


Kinktober 2020

by Heavydirtys0ul



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (Cocaine), Bondage, Caught, Clothes Kink, Coming In Pants, Daddy Kink, Drugs, Grinding, Hate Sex, Human/Monster Romance, Humiliation, Kinktober 2020, Knife Play, Loss of Virginity, M/M, MONSTER FUCKER, Macro/Micro, Monsterfucker Logan Sanders, Multi, Omorashi, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Stimulants, Strength Kink, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Tentacles, Thighs, Threesome - M/M/M, Uniform Kink, Virginity Kink, Yandere, and they were ROOMMATES, sex under the influence, unplanned/accidental sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 59,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26810536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/Heavydirtys0ul
Summary: All my kinktober prompt fills from over on not-safeforsanders.tumblr.com
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 32
Kudos: 225





	1. Day One: Caught: Logicality/Roman+Patton+Logan

**Author's Note:**

> Voyeurism and Threeway additional notes for this chapter.

Hindsight dictates then when you’re going to be doing something that requires a locked door, you should _probably_ lock the door; certainly when your roommate has a very distinct element of his personality that seems to force him into rooms without knocking. The amount of times Roman has walked in on flustered cheeks and heavy kissing should have served as a forewarning to all parties involved in this dilemma. 

In the times between Logan's first arrival into Patton’s life and now, Roman has walked into Patton’s room without announcing himself a grand total of _seventeen_ times. In a _year_. And yet he still feels wildly unprepared for this situation. 

It was the usual evening, Saturday night, a small bottle of wine and Logan in his lap. The feverish little kisses that taste like rosé wine, the giddy aftertaste of alcohol no matter how little or how not-drunk they actually are. No matter how many times they do this there’s always those small smiles shared between them, whether it be over Logan’s incredibly sensitive body, which makes him jolt and gasp and sigh heavily, or the simple fact that having sex is never _not_ exciting to them. 

Logan had just about breathlessly asked “can I ride you?” with Patton’s fingers pressed inside him, his cock half-hard and his skin flushed and a little shiny from sweat. 

“If you want too.” He’d kissed him with a sense of burning want, his nails dragging lightly across Patton’s skin as he pushed him down onto the bed. Patton’s head was half-hanging off the end of the bed, lifting his upper body up a little on his forearms just so he can watch Logan sink down on his cock. He’d exhaled heavily and it sounded almost like a breathless moan; he watches for a few minutes, before he decides to just relax down and enjoy the slow drag of his cock against the inside of Logan’s body. 

Logan had leaned down to kiss him, speeding up his movements just enough for Patton to feel like he’s going insane, the elder wrapped his hand around Logan’s cock and jerked him to the movement of his hips and thighs, keeping the time just right, and the more Logan sped up, the faster he was rewarded by the hand around him. 

He’d just about gasped out Patton’s name against the other man’s lips (It’s days like this Patton is glad he’s shorter than Logan, the other is so tall he can get a lot of jobs done at once when it comes to situations like this), hanging teetering close to the edge, when the door opened. 

For the most part Logan was not embarrassed, he was just annoyed. 

Patton however screwed his eyes shut as if following the age of tradition of “if I can’t see you, you can’t see me.” 

Roman just stared for a moment, stood awkwardly in the doorway as his eyes follow every single point of contact where their bodies had met. His cheeks felt hot, flushed; Logan’s dark eyes meet his own unabashedly and the lingering lust coated in frustration has Roman opening his mouth to say something, an apology or anything but the sound dies on his lips, before he just turns on his heel and wanders back out of the doorway, the door closes shut behind him. 

Logan sighed a little, looking down at the other man. Patton puffs out his cheeks and then shakes his head, his heart hammering in his chest. “So, where were we?”

It’s not really that Roman felt embarrassed, honestly that was the _last_ worry on his mind, it was how hot it made his body feel. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to work it’s magic on him. He knows Logan and Patton have sex, he’s _always_ known that, after all it’s not the first time he’s wandered in at an inopportune moment it’s simply the first time he’s walked in on... _that_. He doesn’t know why they don’t lock the door, even less so why he never knocks before entering, habit he supposes, people just walked into his room unannounced his entire life before finally getting his own place. 

It was driving him up the wall though, just thinking about those milliseconds before they realised the door was open and Logan looked... _so_ close to losing it, his hair was messy and his body was moving with feverish intent, and Patton looked so concentrated whilst simultaneously blissed out, his movements shaky and desperate. 

There’s no real way of avoiding how his cock was aching from witnessing it. 

Then his thoughts start crossing over into a dangerous territory, or well, a very self-indulgent territory. At first it was a passing thought that he threw into the trash almost immediately: “What would it be like to be between them?” The thought had made him feel uncomfortable almost indefinitely, because he can’t just throw himself into the middle of anybodies relationship, let alone sex life. But he catches Patton in the kitchen with Logan, making a cup of coffee and the thoughts come back again. He thought about tracing Logan’s collarbones with his tongue, running his nails over Patton’s stomach, biting gently at his thighs. He thought about fucking both of them at different intervals, being fucked by either of them at another. 

It was driving him _insane._

For a while he thought if he just entertained the fantasies alone they’d go away, as if biting his own hand to stop himself gasping out their names whilst the other hand is wrapped around his cock would somehow magically make that fantasy null and satiated. It did not work, predictable to absolutely anyone. 

Can you just ask people a question like: “Would you mind fucking me?” Is that a question that you can ask someone you consider a friend, and a man you’ve known just over a year? Is it worth the possible fallout that could have? 

He thinks about running his hand through Patton’s hair and marking up his skin, and he thinks about looking up at Logan and the weight of his body on top of him and decides, if he doesn’t ask, they can’t say yes or no. 

He asks, sort of. And he knocks on the door first this time. They’re just sat down with some snacks, cups of tea and a netflix film, but seems distinctly more pre-occupied by their cuddle session as Patton twirls Logan’s hair around his finger. “Yes?” Logan asks, looking less annoyed this time, actually he has the sort of expression a sleepy kitten would give on his face. 

“Uh...about the other week…” Roman starts, his voice coming out a little softer than he’d intended, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot with a flush to his cheeks. 

“Oh, it’s fine, we’re over it,” Patton smiles, genuinely too. “Honestly after a couple of days we just started to find it funny,” he chuckles lightly, ceasing his twirling and light tugging of Logan’s hair so that he can concentrate on the conversation instead. “At least you seem to have learned your lesson.” 

“Right, yeah,” Roman gives a weak sort of smile, and takes a step back even though his face looks like he has more to say, his body desperately wants to bolt from this conversation. Which is strange, because Roman is not easily flustered, or embarrassed, and yet out of the three of them he seems to be the most worked up over this. Patton’s eyes narrow a little, scrutinising the other man in a way that does not help how hot Roman’s face feels. 

“What’s wrong?” the other man finally asks, tilting his head to the side and halting his scrutinising stare so that Roman may relax for a few seconds. “It’s really not that big of a deal Roman, it was bound to happen eventually with the way you just wander into rooms without knocking, there’s no point in getting worked up about it.”

“I’m not...worked up...like I’m not _upset,_ anyway,” Roman sighs “I am sorry and I wish I hadn’t done it, for a lot of reasons, but I’m not losing sleep over that fact.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” Logan asks, sitting up a little with a curious expression. “Is there a separate matter you wish to consult us on? 

“ ** _No_**! Uh... _maybe,_ I don’t…” Roman groans in frustration, and takes another step back, bringing his hands up in front of himself to just gesture a little wildly, his back hits the door after a moment. 

“Roman, wait, whatever you want to say is clearly…”

“Just spit it out,” Logan interrupts his partners reassuring ramble with a quirked eyebrow. “Although I can derive from your attitude and discomfort in your voice...and how the two matters would relate...I’d _really_ like to hear you say it.” Roman really wants to run away, forget he opened his mouth at all. Patton looks at Logan with a confused and bewildered expression, but the other man’s eyes just stare into him, not upset...but _amused_. 

He’s enjoying watching him squirm, the bastard.

“It doesn’t matter,” Roman muttered. “I just came to say sorry that’s all,” His hand reaches for the door handle. Logan slides off the bed and steps closer to him, quickly, and his hand slides away from it a little. 

“Humour me,” the dark-haired man mutters; he’d never have thought of Logan as imposing until he’s stood an inch from him, about a head taller with his arms folded and an slightly mischievous look in his eyes. “I want to know if I’m right, and believe me I’ll be far more excited about that than I will be upset.” 

“I...I can’t stop thinking about it,” Roman muttered. “I can’t stop thinking about you two.” Logan grins, clapping his hands together. 

“I was right!” 

“Logan,” Patton sighs lightly, chastising his otherwise emotionally-inept partner as he too slides off the bed, walking over. Roman feels far too boxed in against this door, but Patton is about two inches shorter than him so at least now he doesn’t feel like he’s a caged animal. “That’s okay, Roman, I mean it’s entirely normal for you to find that interesting, and we’re not offended, well I’m not offended…” he looks at Logan, who looks mostly pleased with himself. “Okay, _we’re_ not offended.” 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s weird, or…”

“It’s not quite weird to be a gay man who finds two men having sex attractive.” Logan cuts in, not really having much time or patience for the rambling today. “You experienced sexual attraction and a desire to have sex based on a scene that you would, normally, find attractive, apart from the fact we didn’t actually consent to be viewed, but that was an oversight not intentional malice, it would be no different from you finding porn attractive.” Patton makes a hum of agreement, shrugging.

“Honestly I’m flattered...” the smaller half of the couple shrugs a little, “...I didn’t think it would have any sort of effect on you just from a couple of seconds, but it’s kind of cute, that we accidentally made a lasting impact; I’m sure other people would feel differently, but well I’ve known you for _years_ Roman, I know you wouldn’t do something to purposefully put anyone in an awkward situation, although it definitely looks like out of the three of us you’re struggling the most for some reason.” 

“We’ve previously discussed an idea, but we weren’t sure who to ask, at this point it seems like fate, if such a thing exists.” 

Roman’s eyes widen a little, still trying to digest what he’s being told. They’re not mad at him, good, _okay_ , he’s got that part, but now are they inviting him into their bed? He blinks up at Logan, who beams like everything makes perfect sense. Roman is starting to think he might need to sit down a little. 

“Maybe we should stop crowding around him,” Patton steps back a little and gestures into the room “...would you like to sit down, Ro?” The other man nods slowly, processing the mix of emotions he now had, which were definitely better than guilt and intense invading sexual thoughts, but still a lot to take in at once. He sits at the edge of their bed and the other two men sit on either side of him, Patton rests his hand on his knee; a movement not all that uncommon for either of them, after all they’re quite friendly with each other, but under these circumstances it feels like a static shock of some sort. He looks up at the other man, his eyes searching for any kind of discomfort for a moment, Patton just smiles and nods.

So Roman kisses him, it’s just soft and gentle and explorative, but it _is_ a kiss, when he pulls back his entire brain feels warm and foggy, before he utters a small ‘huh’ of pleasant realisation: that was nice, that _felt_ nice. Logan leans back on his hands a little and resides himself to just watching the two of them as Patton pulls the other man back into another kiss, it’s warmer and heavier and Roman kisses like he’s demanding something which is different, not in an unpleasant way, from what Patton is used too. 

By the time they’re pulling back for air, Logan has a very distinctive look on his face, going from tired to pent up in a matter of moments. Roman exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair as he takes a breath. Logan taps on his shoulder delicately with a finger and he turns a little, shuffling back on the bed as he cups Logan’s jaw and kisses him firmly, after a moment he feels a hand slide up his leg, resting on his inner thigh as a separate pair of lips press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his neck. 

Being sandwiched between two people was not something Roman ever thought he’d get to experience. Let alone these two specific people. 

Logan tugs at his shirt and he pulls away for the other two to pull it over his head, shivering at the warm air and the feeling of hands on his body. He hasn’t known he’d end up the center of attention, but perhaps they’re both just curious. Patton leans down to suck at his nipple gently, causing him to moan into the kiss as Logan happily swallows every little moan. 

The taller man pulls away a little to move his kisses to Roman’s neck, his hands drifting over his body, his touch is almost feather-light, whilst Patton’s teeth nip at his skin. “Do you have a preference?” Logan asks quietly, Roman shakes his head mutely, wondering absently when he cock had gotten so hard just from these innocuous touches. “I’d really like you to fuck me,” 

“Okay,” The brunet replies breathlessly (was there anything else to say? Roman’s brain feels like fog and hot ash), leaning back a little. Logan undresses himself, because maybe he likes to put on a show a little. And that’s perfectly fine with Roman as Patton’s hands undo his belt buckle, he lifts his hips distractedly to get him out of his pants, but his eyes were too busy focusing on the glow of Logan’s skin as the sunlight streamed in through the open window. He doesn’t really have a feminine or masculine build, he’s tall so all the weight on his body seems like it isn’t there at all, but he’s not really skinny either (or at least, not skinny in the way that he’s all sharp edges and bones, there are curves to his thighs and stomach and a slight definition to his upper arms), his thighs have pretty little stretch marks on them that he wants to trace with his hands and tongue. 

His thoughts are sort of cut short by Patton’s mouth on his cock though, a grunt of surprised pleasure escaping his throat as he looks down at the head of curls that are bobbing between his legs. 

“Try not to cum before I need you,” Logan teases, kneeling on the bed. Patton moves off his cock and grins a little, shrugging.

“I couldn’t resist,” he admits, with flushed cheeks of general arousal and excitement. He pulls his own shirt over his head and leaves it to grace the floor with the rest of Logan and Roman’s clothes, before the other man’s hands go to his belt before he can even think about doing it. Roman’s movements are fluid and practised, and very quick, he’s as eager to get Patton out of his clothes as the other man is to get out of them. 

They’re both rather happy to watch Logan stretching himself open; whilst he also likes stretching Logan open, the other man has a knack for putting on a show like there’s no one else in the room. Roman’s hand wraps around his cock, slowly jerking Patton as their eyes watch the other man, legs drawn up to his chest as his fingers push in and out of his ass. His body jerks and moves, his back arching, little moans ghosting his lips; Roman knows he’s exaggerating for their sake, as Patton’s hand finally touches him in reciprocation however, they know it’s definitely working. 

But neither of them can cum yet, so it’s a case of stopping and starting, teasing and frustrating each other until Logan is ready. 

When the other man is finally finished, he wipes off the lube on his fingers onto a piece of tissue and kneels up again. “So...how do you want me?”   
“I really want to watch you two,” Patton comments, looking between the two men with a look in his eyes that’s nothing short of hungry. “I can take care of myself.” 

“However’s comfortable for you,” Roman comments, as Patton moves off the bed to let them arrange themselves. Logan clambers onto Roman’s lap, handing him the lube whilst his boyfriend settles at the top end of the bed, wrapping his hand around his cock, but stroking slowly, without much pressure, he’d like to last the duration of this. 

Roman lubes up his own cock and grips the base, letting Logan line himself up as he slowly inches down the other man’s length, his eyes falling shut as he adjusts to both the stretch and the general pleasure of being filled up. 

Roman rests his forehead against Logan’s collarbone, not moving as he lets the other man adjust at his own pace, not matter how greatly his hormones would love to just fuck up into the other until neither of them can breathe, he more importantly does not want to hurt his friend. 

If friend can be an accurate descriptor for whatever this is. 

But eventually Logan moves more, panting a little from the strain on his thighs as his focuses on the drag of Roman’s cock inside him, pressing into him, over and over again. He turns his head a little with his breath short on his lips to meet Patton’s eyes, soaking in the hungry look that comes with being an object of desire as his partner strokes himself, taking in the pretty picture of his boyfriend being fucked by someone else. 

Eventually Roman starts gripping Logan’s hips, fucking up into him with the movements of his own body, the sounds of skin on skin and soft moans filling the room. Logan whimpers and gasps a little as he presses in the right spot a few times, his cock twitching between their bodies. When Roman’s hips finally snap up into him in a way that says he’s close, he doubles his efforts despite the way his muscles burn from the tension, watching Roman’s face as the other’s head hits against the wall from the force of his orgasm. His cock twitches inside Logan, spilling into him as he finally comes to a rest to search for the breath he’d ran out of. 

The taller man, once he’s sure the other is quite done and ready to rest, eases off his cock and enjoys the way cum leaks out of his body. Patton bites his lip a little as he watches the display, his gaze had been focuses on Roman’s expression, but when Logan starts to crawl towards him, he just sits up against the headboard and lets the other man settle himself in his lap. 

“You have an astounding amount of stamina,” Roman comments, amused, and breathless.

“He’s just a little cumslut, aren’t you lolo?” Logan whimpers a little, sinking down on Patton’s cock. He’d been touching himself for the duration of their little display so he hasn’t got much left in him, and he lets Logan work for it. 

Roman watches them both, fascinated and pleased that he gets to witness this again. Logan’s hips move even though the pain of his muscles aching (the way a good run or a good fuck usually does) is apparent in his expression. Patton’s nails dig into his skin, his thumb pressing against his abdomen where he knows Logan is at his most sensitive, it makes the man squirm even with his efforts focused on his partner’s release. 

It’s like, in some way, that he _lives_ for it. 

Patton finally stops letting the other do half the work, wrapping an arm around the other’s waist and lifting him up. Sometimes Roman forgets that Patton is strong, because he’s never really seen it in much practise, but when Logan clings to him, as their positions move and Patton lies him down on his back, hovering over Logan’s body, it makes Roman’s mind see a lovely shade of desire that he’d just about satiated.

If there’s ever a next time, he’d _really_ like Patton to fuck him. 

Logan’s head now rests within reaching distance of Roman, so he runs a comforting hand through the other man’s hair as Patton fucks into him over and over. Their bodies rock with the movements, Logan’s face twisted in pleasure but they can both tell it’s not enough to make him cum, not without touching him, so neither of them do. Playing a little game between the two of them to see how close they can get the other man. 

Roman watches Patton’s face, the way he bites his lip in concentration, the little pants that escape him between this movement, and inevitably when he moans out Logan’s name and presses deep into the other man, filling him with cum for the second time that day. 

When he pulls out slowly, exhaling heavily, he leans down to kiss Logan gently, soothingly. “You did so well,” he mutters, “I think you deserve a reward.” The other man gives a grin that’s a little lazy, his leaking cock hard against his abdomen; Patton moves down Logan’s body to suck at the head, not with too much force because he adores the way Logan’s body twitches at the gentle movements. Roman leans over to kiss him, the two of them concentrating their efforts on Logan’s pleasure. After the almost rough movements of the past half an hour, it’s surprisingly very still. Logan kisses tiredly and languidly as Patton’s head bobs between his thighs in a quick rhythm, no teasing. He hadn’t much left in him, so it’s a matter of minutes before his body is arching and shaking underneath their touches. 

Patton swallows his release, and Roman swallows his gasped moans, and Logan feels like his entire body is burning in the most pleasant way. 

“That was amazing,” He mutters, as Roman presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, sort of enamoured by how someone usually so cocky and self-assured could look so adorable and fucked-out. “I think I should probably have a shower now,” Logan smiles, blinking a little like his brain is only half on planet earth and the rest is somewhere else entirely. 

“Should I go?” Roman asks, because he doesn’t want to intrude. 

“Nonsense, you wash his hair, I’ll make sure he’s clean,” Patton winks, Roman grins and nods, somehow more excited about that than the sex itself. They help Logan up, trying not to feel a little proud by the way he limps ever so slightly. 

Roman does end up coming back, again and again. Because he didn’t think he could ever not be addicted to the way it feels to care about two people at once. He’s always had a lot of love to give, he just didn’t think it would be like this. He stays longer and longer after the sex, and always worries he’s intruding on something domestic, until Patton tells him that he wouldn’t still be here if they didn’t both love him just as much as they did each other.


	2. Day 2: Bondage: Moxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton learns something knew about Virgil, and himself too.

It was an accident for Patton to discover this about his partner. The two live in a two-bedroom flat, as their relationship had started out as platonic and also it’s perfectly healthy to want to be alone occasionally, so they each have their own rooms. He’d asked Virgil if he could borrow his phone charger, as he’d knackered the cable on his own and they use the same phone model. Virgil, who had been halfway through making breakfast, had simply said “Yeah just go on in, it’s by my bed.” 

The phone charger was, in fact, by his bed. That wasn’t the problem, it was what caught his eye peeking out from under the double bed as he lay across it on his stomach trying to wrench the charger out of the wall (likely, perhaps, why his own phone charger had ended up in the bin, because he was far too lazy to just walk to the other side of the bed). He hadn’t know what it was at first, as Virgil’s very heavy curtains were drawn closed and would be until around one in the afternoon, but as he left the charger by his side and bent over the edge of the bed to pull some of it up, he realised it was rope. Quite soft, smooth to the touch, and an inky black. He sits up cross-legged on the bed with his eyebrows furrowed, the rope draping over his lap as he traces the twists of the thing. He didn’t know at first what it was for, his explorations into sex had always been very vanilla and the kinkiest he’s ever gotten in his life was a pair of handcuffs, but by the texture he knew this rope wasn’t for anything that required serious durability, this rope was meant to feel nice to the touch.

It clicks after a few minutes and he wonders if he should ask Virgil, or if that would be embarrassing to him, but at the same time he’s not a very good liar nor good at avoiding the truth. Either way he doesn’t know how he’d avoid bringing it up, but first he should really know for sure that this rope is for... _that._ Because assuming would lead to an awkward conversation too. 

He rolls it up, grabs that and the charger and wanders back into the kitchen. He kind of stands awkwardly by the door as Virgil shovels cereal into his mouth, bent over the kitchen counter with his phone in his free hand, scrolling through some social media site. But he looks up when he notices Patton just sort of standing there, his eyes glance down to what’s in his hand and his entire body stiffens in panic. “Sorry,” Patton blurts out, but the blond is not quite sure what he’s apologising for “I...I just noticed it poking out from under the bed and uh...I felt like avoiding the questions would be more awkward than just...pretending like I hadn’t seen it.” 

“Right,” Virgil muttered, abandoning his spoon in his bowl and his phone on the counter. “Okay, uh…” 

“It’s alright, I’m not upset I-I just want to know uh...if it’s for like...y’know.” Virgil exhales a sort of laugh that could be disbelief or just at Patton’s general awkwardness. 

“It’s for bondage, if that’s what you’re asking, I haven’t used it on anyone but myself I just...I like having it.” Patton nods, looking down at the rope curiously. 

“Do you want to use it on someone else or...on you or…?” he doesn’t know where he was going with that, he doesn’t think there’s a third option there. He’s just nervously rambling. 

“Both, either, I-I like the idea of both.” Patton nods, the rope suddenly feels a lot heavier than it is, even though he knows that’s just his own brain tripping over itself. “But you don’t have too, or anything...it’s not for everyone, like, I’m perfectly happy to just keep using it on myself.” The blond shakes his head at Virgil a little, offering a small smile.

“I’m not freaked out or anything, I’m just, processing it...I guess? I think I’d like to try it, well, I would like to try it, but I’d prefer if you use it on me first so I know how it works before I go trying it on you.” Virgil swallows dryly, suddenly now the one struggling to process words as he tucks the long strands of his hair behind his ear before nodding. 

“Yeah...okay, _yeah_ I can do that.” Patton smiles at him, then places the rope on the breakfast counter. “I’m going to finish breakfast first though, and then let that digest a bit, last thing either of us need is the shakes.” He chuckles a little as his partner steps up on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek, wrapping his arms around the other. “What’s gotten you all cuddly?”

“I’m excited to try something new, and I’m happy I know something new about you.” 

“Guess it keeps things interesting.”

“Is there more?” The other man asks curiously, untangling from his boyfriend for a moment. “I mean other than bondage, is there more stuff that you’re interested in?”

“Theoretically yes, practically...uh, yes, but not nearly as many.” 

“So you’ve done stuff like this before?” Virgil hums in agreement, grabbing his bowl of slowly disintegrating cereal by way of having something to shut his own mouth up with. “Look, you don’t have to be nervous, I’m sure there’s things I won’t want to try but I won’t judge you for it...and I want to try new things with you, isn’t that kind of the point of a relationship? Helping each other become better people?” 

“It’s not that I think you’ll judge me Pat, it’s just really a case of there’s some things I want to be able to come to terms with alone and in my own time first, but if you’re desperate to know the sort of things I got up to in my past relationships, not very much, I just dabbled in certain dynamics.” 

“Oh...right, yeah, that’s...that makes sense actually, sorry, I hadn’t thought of that.” Virgil smiles and leans down to kiss his cheek. 

“Breakfast, make some,” he holds up his own bowl of very soggy cereal before turning to move away from the cupboards. Patton rolls his eyes and playfully pokes him on the way past, moving to make something sustainable for the next hour or so. 

\--

They have breakfast, they let it digest a little, relax, try not to think too hard about the rope that just sits now on Virgil’s desk. Patton’s fingertips keep tracing his own wrists absentmindedly. He had never really thought about something like this; now he’s certainly curious though, about all sorts of elements, like would it be uncomfortable, or feel nice? Or where does it even go? 

Virgil seems to notice him getting fidgety and asks him if he’s okay. “Nervous,” Patton replies, but not in a tone that sounds like it, he sounds more excited than anything. “Does it go on my wrists, or my forearms? Or my body in general?” 

“Should probably just stick to arms for now, babe, don’t want you floating off before you’ve even grasped the ropes, pun sort of intended.” Patton nods in agreement, sitting up and crossing his legs. He leans his elbows on his knees for a moment, rolling up his sweater sleeves to stare at his forearms in curiosity. “Do you want to start now?” He nods, leaning up off his knees to sit up a little straighter, like an attentive puppy. 

The dynamics are going to be interesting, whilst they’re both flexible when it comes to sex in the vanilla sense, Patton can be very dominant one second, and extremely submissive another. Virgil is not much better, and he gets the feeling they're both going to have to be careful managing their own and each other’s headspaces the further they go into this. 

Patton pulls his sweater over his head, sitting shirtless on the bed whilst Virgil grabs the rope. “Sorry it might be a little awkward at first, but I want to make sure it’s not hurting you or anything and I can’t really rush this,” he gives a small smile and Patton returns it, a little nervousness seeping in as he holds out his forearms for the other man to take. He doesn’t have thin wrists, or forearms, whilst Virgil is all height and no weight, but the difference is not something that causes the other man any distress, it just means the rope will be an inch shorter than usual when he’s done. 

Patton watches as the knots make their way up his arms, the black against his skin is very pretty, he has to admit, he makes a mental note to have a look for pictures of this online later. Virgil’s fingers move deftly but not too fast and each time he pulls a knot he grips Patton’s forearms gently to test the tension. His focus is concentrated, his fingertips slipping under the rope to check how tight they are on him. “How does that feel?” He asks, there’s still a lot of rope left over, as it’s not quite intended to be used on just one part of the body, but he doesn’t want to start putting Patton in to more depth than he can handle, whether the other man thinks he can handle it or not.

“Not as uncomfortable as I thought it would,” he replies softly, testing the little tension between his tied forearms, “...actually it feels quite nice, soft.” Virgil gives him a small smile and leans up to kiss him gently, moving the remaining rope out of the way. 

“If you want to stop, just tell me, if you want to be untied, just tell me, I promise you I won’t be upset, anything like this can be intense when you’re not used to it; and I’d rather you stop whilst it’s just a mild discomfort than not say anything until it’s really upsetting you, okay?” Patton nods. 

“Can you use your words for me, babe?” 

“Yes, sorry, yeah, I’ll say if I’m uncomfortable in any way.” Virgil nods, his hand coming up to run his fingertips down the length of Patton’s forearm, catching against the rope. Then he takes the other man’s wrists in his hand and pushes him down against the bed. 

Oh and that, _that_ _**really**_ does something to Patton, for a moment he barely adjusts to how the fast the movement is, but then Virgil is in his lap and his wrists are pinned above his head, and his entire body feels far too warm for such a simple movement. Virgil’s lips claim his own, open-mouthed but not fast or biting or forceful, just like how they usually kiss. 

Like he’s trying to keep them both calm. Patton had never felt so calm before, he’s nervous yes, but the soothing motion of a kiss they’ve done a million times makes his whole body sink and surrender under Virgil’s weight in a way he’s rarely experienced in his life. 

HIs lips trail from Patton’s lips, to his jaw, to his neck, sucking at the skin delicately; somehow Patton had expected this sort of situation to be more forceful, but it’s just oddly comforting, like he doesn’t have to do anything, Virgil will take care of him. As his partner moves down his body, he lets go of his wrists, but calmly and yet still in a tone that has no room for argument, instructs: “Keep your hands there.”

“Okay,” Patton replies, breathlessly and a little dumbfounded. 

Virgil smiles warmly and sucks at Patton’s nipple, his hand coming up to play with the other. Patton inhales deeply, his eyes falling shut as the little matchstick-sized warmth starts to grow with the little touches to his body, Virgil’s hands slide down his body and the tips of his hair brush against his skin and he doesn’t know why these little things make his eyes close or why that makes them all the more featherlight yet intense, but he loves the way it feels. “Still feeling okay?” Virgil asks, pressing a kiss just below his ribs. Patton nods because words feel like a distant concept that he can’t remember how to form. “Can you speak for me, baby?” 

“Yes, I’m okay,” his voice comes out small, like it’s catching in the back of his throat, it takes a minute to understand it’s because it feels like talking takes much more energy than he has, but shortly decides that’s quite a nice feeling. He catches Virgil’s smile just below his belly button, he doesn’t shiver when his pants and underwear are pulled off of his body; he feels too warm, not in an uncomfortable way but...just like there’s no cold to be had in this room. 

His eyes close again, and he hears the cap of a lube bottle being clicked open, the weight on top of his body absent although that too takes a few seconds for him to register. He doesn’t open his eyes, just spreads his legs a little and waits, curious to try and decipher when the feeling will come. 

It does make him jump a little, but then he smiles a little because the little jump in his heart felt like it tickles. Patton takes a deep breath in, the smile still on his lips as his partner presses a finger into him. Virgil seems to cotton on to what Patton is doing, what he’s trying to understand, so he doesn’t make him open his eyes, just watches his face and listens to the little noises he gives out, leaning down every now and then to suck lightly at the head of his cock. 

He should probably mention the existence of blindfolds after this, at some point. 

He pauses only to pull his shirt over his head, not bothered by the little bit of lube that catches on the inside, because he can just wash it and more important things require his attention right now. Although Virgil can’t argue that he wasn’t enjoying a completely naked Patton whilst he still remained fully clothed, as if something about that makes him feel powerful; he undresses from the waist down a little clumsily with one hand as he finishes stretching his partner open. 

Then he kneels on the edge of the bed between Patton’s legs, lubing up his own cock and reaching for a pillow to place under the other man’s hips. He grinds his cock lightly against the other man’s ass, just enjoying the feel, something Patton too seems to enjoy as a gentle sigh ghosts his lips. 

The contact of their bodies together brings back that lovely relaxing feeling again, even as he stretches around Virgil’s cock, his entire body feels like it floats when Virgil’s hand goes around his wrists again, his thighs pressing into him, the weight of his body pressing down not oppressively, but like a warm blanket, to his lover. 

“Can you open your eyes for me, baby?” Patton would very much like for Virgil to never stop calling him that. Baby, like he was someone who needed taking care of, like he was someone who needed love. And those are not incorrect statements, doesn’t everybody need love and care? But Patton has always prided himself in his independence and sometimes he forgets he’s allowed to be cared for. 

He certainly cannot forget as he opens his eyes, eyelids feeling heavy, to see Virgil looking down at him with a small, endeared smile. “Hi,” he whispers, because long words are too much, but he smiles and Virgil leans down to kiss him softly, dragging his hips back a little, and then in again, slowly, slower and more careful than usual. 

Patton thinks he understands that the idea of domination to Virgil is not to control someone, it’s to let them know they don’t have to do anything, that they’re taken care of. 

“You can...fasted...no...faster that’s….” he sighs a little, his words all scrambled in his mind, “... _faster_ , you can go faster, _please_.” Virgil laughs quietly, seemingly enamoured by Patton’s inability to manage his own thoughts, and that was just a little rope; maybe the other man just needed to get out of his own head more than he’d thought he had. But he acquiesces, and picks up his speed, pressing into the other man a little sharper, capturing the moans in a kiss. 

Patton isn’t sure if it’s the rope, or the hands pinning his wrists down, but his entire body feels more electric than usual. The friction of their bodies, the warmth of the kiss, the gradual uptick of speed with each other thrust, his eyes close again and yes he _feels_ it, like a shock of energy in his skin. 

He is not all that surprised, that he cums a little quicker than usual, he is that he cums without his cock being touched directly bar the little friction between their bodies. And that he can feel it, hanging there for a long moment until it hits with a force he hadn’t expected, whimpering out Virgil’s name as he spills between them. 

The other man looks down at him with a little surprise, with him not being as vocal as usual, rather obviously, he hadn’t really expected it until Patton was falling over the edge. He doesn’t look upset though, and goes to pull out, but Patton’s legs tighten around him and he shakes his head. “You want me to keep going?” he asks, his voice not hiding the surprise in his tone. Patton nods mutely. 

_“Please,”_ he whispers, “...I want you too.” He’s not ready to be his own person again just yet.

Virgil swallows, searching the other’s eyes for a hint of discomfort, before he continues, a little cautiously for a moment, watching the other man squirm underneath him; but he doesn’t look upset, actually he kind of looks a blend between overstimulated and in the most intense pleasure he’d ever experienced.

He allows himself to focus on his own pleasure too, although he still watches Patton’s face for any discomfort as he chases the high that he’s not too far from. It’s not until he can feel the gut-twisting familiarity of his orgasm that he loses his concentration, spilling into the other man with a moan that seems to start right in his chest, gasping out his lover’s name as he fills him. 

He stills, resting his head beside Patton’s for a second as his heartbeat calmed. “We should get you out of those ropes before you start aching,” he mutters, after a long second, looking down at the other man, who looks still and absent. “Are you okay, Pat?”

“Huh?” Patton jolts a little, blinking. “Oh...yeah, I’m great, I can’t feel my brain though,” Virgil smiles softly and kisses his forehead, easing out of the other man and helping him sit up slowly. Much quicker than he’d made it, he undoes the knots and discards the rope. There’s no pressing marks in his skin, just the sort you get from a watch or bracelet. He massages Patton’s bare forearms with his thumbs and then presses a delicate kiss to each arm. 

“Do you think you can tell me where you are, Pat?”

“I’m in your bedroom,” his voice is soft, and Virgil nods, encouraging him to keep talking. “Uh...on your bed, your sheets are purple, like the colour your hair used to be, I loved that shade of purple, but I like it black too.” He smiles, his voice starting to come back to it’s usual weight and pitch. 

“I liked it purple too,” Virgil nods, mostly absorbed with the fact he’d managed to send Patton into subspace without really meaning too. “Do you feel okay? Good? Bad? Both?”

“I feel a little tired, but good, except I think I’m getting cum on your nice, purple bed sheets.”

“That’s alright, I can wash those, would you like a shower? And then a cuddle? We can watch a film if you like?” Patton beams and nods, his hands seeking Virgil’s. 

Later, when Patton has fully returned to an _idea_ of the present, or at least can articulate himself a little better, Virgil asks him how it was for him, how it felt. Patton sighs through a smile and shakes his head “I felt like I was floating, I felt a lot, especially when I closed my eyes, but I just felt like...like I had nothing to worry about because you were going to take care of me.” Virgil nodded, smiled and kissed him gently. 

“Good, that’s what I was aiming for.”


	3. Day 3: omo: Intruality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton wasn't planning on needing the toilet this badly, nor being in the kitchen this long, and he certainly didn't expect Remus' reaction.

It was a quiet evening, Roman and Logan had taken to a local club and Janus is a chronic sleep-until-8pm-get-up-at-2am sort of person, whilst Virgil was busy with his job that usually has him up at all sorts of odd hours sketching and digitising his work; so that really just left Remus and Patton in the flat. 

Patton had been filling out notes for his uni work for most of the day so he hadn’t been much company at all, but the moment he steps into the kitchen to fix himself a quick snack, Remus darts out of his room for a sign of life. “Pat! You’re alive!” He exclaims with that childish excitement that he never seems to really shake. His friend offers him a sort of tired smile, still computing hours of philosophy and psychology that he’d slaved over for his work. 

But he really doesn’t have much time to talk right now, he’d only come in to grab some fruit or something and he really needs the toilet. “Hi Re,” he manages out, trying to skirt around the other man who furrows his eyebrows a little as he notices he’s being avoided. “Can we talk later...I really need the toilet,” Remus pouts a little, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest as he leans against the kitchen door. 

“If I’ve done something wrong you’re gonna need a better excuse than _that!_ ”

“No, I just...I really, _really_ need the toilet Re.” Remus rolls his eyes a little, but Patton knows he’s only joking around. He can feel the waistband of his pants pressing against his abdomen, the strain isn’t like anything he’d really felt before, but he hadn’t really intended to be in the kitchen for more than a few seconds. 

Remus scrutinises him for a moment, before sighing, _“fine,”_ the word comes out only faux-upset, as if upset is an actual emotion this man can feel. He shuffles out of the way, and Patton’s grip on the single apple he’d decided was his dinner suddenly turns rather white, he steps forward and the movement alone seems to jostle him far more than necessary, cheeks flushing as he really wishes Remus would also just _leave_. 

The other man moves further into the kitchen though, opening cupboard doors and fridge doors and freezer doors, looking for the ingredients for a dinner that is somehow far more nutritious than a single apple. Patton hurries towards the door, a distinct feeling of horror creeping up his neck as he feels himself leak a little into his pants. 

And he complains Logan doesn’t practise self care, how does someone put off going to the toilet for _**four** hours?_

He grips his cock a little, hoping to stem the flow, pulling open the kitchen door. “Hey Pat, could you…” Remus calls out after him. Patton tries to explain that he _really_ needs to leave, but the other man lets go of the cupboard door a little too forcefully and Patton jumps before he manages to turn around and face him. 

His cheeks flush with embarrassment as he feels the stream let go at his startled fear, seeping through his underwear and pants and running down his legs. A hot flush curls up his neck as once he’d let go, he just couldn’t stop; and although the relief is intense the boiling sense of shame is far more powerful. 

“Shit, sorry, Pat, I didn’t think you _really_ meant you needed to go,” Remus’ eyes, however, when they look at him are not judging, there’s a very different look in his eyes that Patton has never seen before in his life. “It’s okay, I’ll just...fill up the mop bucket,” he speaks, but his eyes and body language have no intention of moving, his tongue darting out over his lips. It takes the rather embarrassed man to realise that Remus’ gaze is rather fixated on the mess he’s made, and there’s a flush to his pale cheeks that isn’t one of embarrassment. “That’s kinda hot actually,” if there’s ever a time for the man to have no filter, it’s now, he’s used to Remus just blurting out whatever’s on his mind no matter how inappropriate. He just hadn’t expected those words to leave _anyone’s_ mouth, ever. When Remus steps towards him, slowly at first, he doesn’t step back, the kitchen door closes behind him as the other man crosses the room much quicker and stands in front of him with a dark look in his eyes. “You’re all pretty when you’re flustered,” he mutters, and Patton makes a noise that sounds a little bit like a squeak. “You can tell me to back off if you like,” Remus reassures him, but he’s curious, and he’d really like absolutely anything to make him feel better right now, so he shakes his head. 

The dark-haired man leans down and kisses him, forcefully, his tongue slipping into Patton’s mouth and yes, it would appear _messy_ is Remus’ style. When he feels a hand pressing to his cock, pushing the wet material against him to create a not unpleasant but also not smooth friction, he finds his hips pushing back against the touch. 

He’ll compute half of what is happening later, Remus pulls their hips together, grinding his already hard cock into Patton’s, his moans deep and gravelly. The blond never quite considered he’d find this fun, or attractive, but his cock seems to think otherwise as he pushes back against him. “Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me Pat,” Remus muttered, nipping along his jaw and tugging his earlobe between his teeth. “You’re so fucking pretty, seeing you like that...all embarrassed, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He isn’t sure if his own humiliation should be a tool of someone else’s pleasure, but he knows it feels far better than being rejected for it. 

His hands fumble with Remus’ belt, popping the button on his jeans and pushing them out of the way. Remus’ hands tug his pants and underwear down to his ankles, then wraps a hand around both of their cocks, stroking them both together. Patton’s breath hitches, his head falling back against the door as he shifts his hips into the touch as best as he can with Remus’ body leaning into his own. 

He cums first, perhaps the pleasure of releasing his pee had made his cock more sensitive, but he lasts much less longer than he would usually, cum leaking over Remus’ hand. He shivers at the feeling of the other man’s cock sliding against his own until Remus follows shortly after, groaning out Patton’s name. 

They both rest, panting and breathless, as Patton’s head finally clears a little. 

“I should really get the mop bucket now,” Remus muttered, pressing a much sweeter kiss to Patton’s cheek as he tucks himself back into his pants. “You go and get changed.” Patton pulls his wet underwear back on, not bothering with his soaked pants. “And a shower, don’t worry, our little secret.” 

Patton gives a small smile, still settling in with the disbelief he’s experiencing, but goes and does as he’s told.


	4. Day 4: Knife Play: Receit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus really likes knives, especially when they're pressed to his throat.

Remus _loves_ knives. It’s more a respect for something that can be so beautifully handcrafted, but rip out your throat; in some ways, it reminds him of his partner. Janus is beautiful, he’s wonderful, there’s not a single thing about him that wasn’t (in Remus’ opinion) handcrafted by the gods or goddesses of beauty themselves. But if you piss him off he’d rip you apart for fun alone, metaphorically speaking that is, he doesn’t _think_ Janus has ever actually killed anyone. But he knows he _could._

The combination of a pretty object, and it’s deadliness, is always going to be appealing to him. 

It helps that his partner has a collection. He has antique knives, new knives, knives that he made himself; blunt knives, razor-sharp ones, some that cost a fortune and some for everyday activities like opening tins and letters. His favourite is fixed one that has the ouroboros engraved into it, that’s the one he likes to use on Remus.

Not in a brutal or hurtful way, but Remus loves knives, and he especially enjoys it when one is held to his neck. 

It had been a playful thing at first, they’d been arguing in the way that is more laughter than shouting and Janus had jokingly pointed a knife at Remus’ neck, expecting a laugh. But all he got was the sounds dying in Remus’ throat, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he tilted his head back a little. He’d fully, for that moment, expected Janus to hold it to his neck and do whatever he pleased to him. 

They had to talk about it first of course, although they’re both very familiar with each other’s non-verbal language now, there still needed to be a set of safety precautions laid out both physically and emotionally. You can’t just play around with knives for fun, one wrong move and you’re going to be dealing with a fallout like no other. 

The first time they tried it seriously, Janus trailed the knife along Remus’ skin and watched him squirm, his cock twitching in sheer anticipation alone. The next time he held it to his neck as he fucked him and Remus saw stars when he came. Then he tied him up, teased him with the knife, trailed it along the head of his cock, told him all the brutish things he wanted to do to him. Which he didn’t really want to do, but Remus enjoys hearing all the same. 

It’s an interesting thing, the effect a knife has on him. Such a simple object. So much power over Remus.

This time they were just in the kitchen and Janus knows by now all too well what pushing him against the kitchen counter does to him. He slides a knife out of the knife block, grips the back of Remus’ head and forces him to bare his neck. Their hips press together as he draws the knifepoint over the exposed skin, Remus’ breath hitching in his tight throat as little whimpers and pleads escape his lips. “Shut your pretty mouth before I shut it permanently.” Janus replied, applying a little bit of pressure but not enough to break any skin. Remus’s hips press into his own, his mind slipping away from him as he grasps for some friction.

He pulls away, grabs Remus and bends him over the counter, grinding his own cock against the other’s ass as he forces his head down, the knife hilt presses into him as Janus grips the back of his neck. Remus’ pants and boxers hit the ground after a few minutes, his legs forced apart as Janus eases the plug out of Remus, and then replaces the empty hole with his cock. He groans as the other man gasps, the corner of the counter pressing into him and hindering the deep, shuddering breaths he takes. “Fuck, aren’t you such a good little slut for me?” His grip loosens as his empty hand grips the hair on the back of Remus’ head, pulling his head up a little, the knife in the other hand trails along his pulse point. “Answer me,” 

“Y-Yes sir, I’m a good slut, for you, sir.” Remus’ words are gasped and babbled, Janus lets go of his head and the other man just about manages to stop his forehead banging against the counter top. 

Janus grips Remus’ hip, pressing into him in long and hard thrusts. The knife presses to the back of Remus’ neck, and the other man relishes in the feeling of the blade against his skin. With the rough thrusts, it’s bound to cut a little; but it’s not a particularly sharp knife and Remus really does love the feeling of it breaking a little skin. It’s always Jan who worries about that. 

Remus just loses all sense of reality at that point, gasping and panting as the counter presses into him with every hard thrust, his head occasionally knocking against it from the angle he was bent over, the knife against his skin and Janus’ cock filling him up, he whimpers and gasps and _pleads_ for _ **moremoremore**_ , telling his partner how much of a good little whore he is for him. 

He cums hard, his cock pressing into the wood of the cabinet below the counter in a way that is definitely equal amounts uncomfortable and pleasurable, his ass clenching around Janus’s cock. The other man does not relent, letting Remus squirm and whimper from the overstimulation before he’s releasing into him. 

The knife gets abandoned on the counter top as Janus eases out of his lover, supporting him with his arms as he inspects for any cuts or bruises, checking in with how he’s feeling emotionally and physically. Remus is smiling in a rather dazed fashion, nuzzling against Janus’ neck the moment he knows it’s over, overly affectionate and rather incapable of finding his own words. 

So yeah, Remus really likes knives, and he really _loves_ Janus.


	5. Day 5: Rough Sex: Intruality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus pushes Patton's buttons. 
> 
> Genuine warnings for this chapter: It's rough, their relationship is pretty unhealthy, but it has a slightly hopeful ending.

It’s a complete accident, he didn’t mean to lose his temper at all. Remus was talking and talking and talking, and Patton just...snapped, his eyes all dark and his words a little too biting; he goes to apologise but there’s no sadness in the other man’s dark eyes, but he does smile, toothily like this is what he wanted all along. It takes the blond-haired man a moment to understand that this _is_ what Remus wanted all along, it’s why he keeps pushing at his buttons so often.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, after biting back the apology that he has suddenly decided that Remus does not deserve. “Stop _doing_ that, Remus, just... _please_.” The tone of his voice is buried under how much he’s shaking, with anger and with upset, his fists clenched by his sides as the freckled skin stretched over his whitened knuckles. Balled up, viscerally enraged. 

To Remus it must be the most _beautiful_ thing he’d ever seen. 

The crucifix around Patton’s neck rises and falls with his deep breaths, the silver catching off the light of the kitchen. If only Remus had just shut up, he needn’t go awakening old demons again. The blonde bites his lip, swallows dryly and tucks a stray curl out of his eyes, before shaking his head. “I didn't mean to lose my temper, but you can’t keep going around saying things like that around me Remus, it makes me uncomfortable,” there’s no sorrow in his tone even though there was supposed to be an apology for raising his voice in there somewhere. 

Wrath is a deadly sin all on it’s own, arguably much worse than the lustful intent the dark-haired man is in constant stream of. Hell was built for people like Remus, where everything is a weapon to be used against another person.

Especially words like that. Everything’s always sexual with him, it’s like he does it because he knows it makes the other squirm when he comes out with such filthy things; Patton knows it must be a joke, Remus’ type is not small, catholic, pretty and thin. It’s people who know how to hurt. 

Not, that Patton does not know how to hurt, but those are thoughts he learned how to lock away. 

But he does, doesn’t he? He wants to hurt Remus, he wants to slap him around the face, sometimes, _sometimes_ he wants to just take him up on his offer. He knows what Remus likes, he’s seen the men he’s dragged in and out of his life, the sort of brutality they inflict on him. But then, Patton doesn’t know what it means to hurt someone truly, not someone he loves.

In equal amounts that he wants to punch Remus, he wants to love him too. Because he’s a friend, his flatmate, someone he’s known for years, who can be so multiple and sporadic that he can be both loving, sweet, but then forceful and bitter. 

Remus steps a little closer to him. He flinches. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. _“Just leave me alone,”_ he goes to push past, away, to control that anger that’s still flipping his stomach, but the other man catches his wrist.

“Don’t be a party pooper Pat, there’s no need to be uptight,” he’s treading on some dangerous territory. “The more you act like you’re not bothered, everytime I mention it, the more I know it’s what you want, because you’re just as much of an abandoned _heathen_ as the rest of us.” Patton snatches his wrist from Remus’ grip and glares, it's a warning shot, but the other man is not going to duck out the way. “You can act like you don’t enjoy listening in, but I see the way you look at me, all flushed and absent, and I can tell you listen, you think about it, you think about fucking me.” The warning shot falters, for a second all the other man’s face shows is absolute neutrality. “Do you jack off thinking about it?” Patton twitches, his jaw tenses. “You enjoy me talking about it, you enjoy how ‘crude’ and ‘crass’ I am.” 

“I _don’t._ ” He replies, clipped. “I’ve told you time and time again to _stop._ ” 

“Then what are you going to do, when I don’t?” 

Patton shakes his head and goes to walk again, but when Remus’ hand lands on his shoulder that buried anger snaps, the back of his hand collides with the side of Remus’ face and the sound, a breathy sigh of relief, that escapes Remus’ chest is like a pressure being pulled off. The fire in his eyes is intense, but Patton’s sheer _fury_ is infinitely more burning. “You never know when to **_fucking_** quit.” Remus is twice his height and weight but when he steps forward, the other man steps back. The anger rolls off the man in a way Remus had been begging for, for years. “Why can you never just take no for an answer? Why do you have to push and push?”

“Because you’re trapping half yourself up, Patton, and that’s no good for you at all.” Remus’ hand catches against the crucifix, Patton’s hand wraps firmly around his wrist, nails digging into the other man’s skin. 

“That’s for me to decide and you to keep your nose out of.” Remus’ hand slackens, the little cross slips from his grasp. 

“Then maybe you should punish me, shut my mouth up.” The room feels like static, the brick walls that hold them into this room; the doors and windows seem to bleed away into darkness, Patton’s anger doesn’t cease. Remus’ daring expression does not melt. They stare at each other, blue eyes on dark brown, waiting, watching, still as ice and as warm as a lit match.

Remus kisses him. 

_Hard._

He just darts forward and grips Patton’s face in his hands and kisses him open-mouthed and passionate, Patton kisses him back for a second, then he bites down on his lip. But that seems to stir him on somehow, he moans, gasping and then pulls back, his lip pierced by the other man’s teeth, tasting blood when he runs his tongue over the mark. Patton pulls him back and kisses him again with one hand still gripping that wrist and the other backing him up firmly against the kitchen counter. He’s so small, so thin, but for that moment he took up more space than this room could hold. 

Remus won, though, as far as he’s concerned he won, he got what he wanted. He finally made Patton angry, and he got what he wanted. Patton’s anger is the root of all else that he tries to avoid, when he places a blockade on his anger, he holds back every other one of his sins. Which unwind with his fingers as he grips the hair on the back of Remus’ head and pulls so hard the other man feels his legs shake. “Just take it out on me.” he gasps, hardly breathing as their lips finally part. “I consent, I’m here, just take all of those things you’re hiding, direct it at _me._ ” It’s the only way he knows how to love. 

Patton hesitates, he can see that flicker of fear in his eyes, Remus’ hands come up to the back of his neck, he opens the clasp of that metal chain and rests it on the kitchen counter. Patton doesn’t stop him, he just swallows and stares at the piece of metal. The taller man’s fingers come up to his chin and he tilts his head back to him. “All of those things I said, all of them that I did…It’s time you get your dues.” 

He’s not angry anymore, not really, but he grips Remus’ shirt and drags him back into the kiss, their feet stumble against the floor, maneuvering through the kitchen to manage their way to the living room, Remus’ shirt ends up on the floor, Patton’s sweater, then his shirt. He pushes Remus down onto the couch and clambers on top of him, the other’s legs are too long, and one foot ends up dangling off the edge; Remus has never been scared to take up space, not the way Patton has. 

His hands fumble with the other man’s belt, dragging his jeans and underwear off. Remus is naked, underneath him, breathless and flushed and looking up at him like he’s something terrifying and beautiful; he’s already wet, his clit swollen and Patton can’t help but touch, his fingers stroking at the other man’s sensitive little cock, watching him gasp, his fingernails gripping into the leather. But he’s impatient, he hasn’t got time for playing around, Patton practically tears off the rest off his clothes, his body hovering over the other’s as he strokes himself until he’s hard enough to push his cock into the other man’s cunt. 

And he fucks into him, his hand coming to grip Remus’ thigh, nails digging into the skin, dragging his hips back and then pressing into him hard and fast. 

The anger comes back, it rests right next to his desire as if lust and wrath could hold hands and be loved by each other. 

He is angry at Remus. He’s furious. Because he never stops, he always pushes Patton over and _over_ and **_over_** again. When the other man whimpers and his nails scratch, it only drives him to fuck harder and harder, treating Remus like an object for release, barely noticing when there are tears in the others eyes or where he squirms in pain. He just keeps chasing that blissful sensation of fury and pleasure. 

When Remus grabs his hand and wraps it around his throat, nails digging in against the pulse he watches the other man as all the blood ceases it’s circulation and watches his back press into the couch which jolts with their movements. 

“Pat,” he gasps, and Patton lets go of his neck, leaning down to bite down against his skin. Not soft, not gentle, not a suck at the skin, he bites down so hard that Remus shouts in pain which blurs into a breathless, aching moan. 

He loves how the other writhes against him, his own nails scraping into his skin so hard it feels like an addiction. Patton leans up again, closing his eyes as he follows the sensation of pleasure, his back arching as he slams into the other man. 

Remus lies still underneath him, tears streaking his face, saliva staining his lips and chin, his body bruised and bitten and scratched. Cum leaks out of him when Patton draws himself out of the other’s warmth and heat. He smiles but he’s crying. “See? It’s good for you.” Remus hiccups, closing his eyes, a motion that makes more tears leak down his face, bringing his hands up (which are shaking, shaking _badly)_ to wipe away his tears. “Did it feel good?”

“Too good,” Patton mutters, sitting down on the other end of the couch, the leather sticks to his skin and it's a sensory nightmare. “There’s a reason some things stay buried.” He grabs his underwear off the floor and his friend sits up, sharply, grabbing his hand.

“If you bury them you never learn how to manage them, and if you don’t learn the difference between reality and whatever your book is telling you, you’re never going to.” He presses a soft kiss to Patton’s knuckles and then kneels up, wincing a little as he presses a knee to either side of Patton’s hips. “Now you’ve got all the anger out, do you want to try it your way?” 

He doesn’t understand for a moment, what Remus is asking, until he leans down and kisses him gently, softly, calmly with his bruised and bleeding lips. The skin underneath Patton’s fingertips where his hands come to rest gently on his hips, feels bruised, though he doesn’t remember grabbing him in that sort of way. He pulls away and studies the bite marks on the taller man’s body, the lines his nails had tracked. He’d been so lost in the fury and euphoria he hadn’t even realised. Like a primal animal, he’d torn his friend to _shreds_. 

And Remus had loved every second, despite the fact he’s shivering in Patton’s lap looking like a victim of violence, he had endured it, lusted for it.

Like some sort of demon who can only get off on pain. 

Would he even enjoy the loving version of that act? Had he ever had sex like that? The noises that his flatmate hears from his room are never really pleasurable, they’re shouts of pain and the sound of skin being abused with much more force than such a body could take, there’s moans and grunts and curses and the sound of gagging and choking. That is Remus’ world. That is his desires. 

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“A lot?”

_“Agony.”_

“Then how are you smiling?” Remus shrugs, the small smile on his face.

“It’s how I know to be loved.” Patton bites his own lip and screws his eyes shut because now he has to cry, he’d hurt Remus, Remus who only knows how to be abused and never really, _truly_ loved. He’s let himself perpetuate that. 

“Don’t cry,” the dark-haired man utters, looking heartbreakingly confused. “I enjoy it.”

“Should you enjoy it?” A low silence, Remus looks down at the couch.”Come on, get up I can’t carry you.” Remus gets off him, still looking confused. “Come on,” He grabs Remus’ hand and leads him to his own room, his hand holding on not tightly, but also like he doesn’t want to let go. He can’t believe he let his...issue get away with him like that, he can’t believe Remus enjoyed it, this entire situation is just...is just... _it’s fucked up_!

He pushes Remus gently onto the bed and settles between his legs, leaning his head down to lick between his folds. The other man squirms beneath him a little, spreading his legs more. 

Patton sucks at his clit, slowly at first, it’s swollen and tender and the man it belongs to let’s out a soft moan. So he concentrates on that little gasping sound of pleasure and works to bring more. He uses his tongue, his hands, whatever he can. 

When Remus cums with a loud and shuddery moan, his cunt clenching, Patton continues, he goes on and on under Remus can barely stand the pleasure. He shakes and trembles like the entire room was too hot and too cold. 

Finally he asks to stop, scared he’s going to pass out if he takes any more. 

“What was that for?” Remus asks. 

“I didn’t want the only memory of us being together to be pain.” Patton replies softly “...that still doesn’t make up for what I did.”

“Neither of us are innocent here, I knew what I was doing.” He pauses. “If I’d asked to stop, would you have?”

_“Of course!”_

“Then that’s a bigger kindness than most would have shown.” 

“That doesn’t make it _okay!”_ The blond cries, frustrated “...I should have known better, I should’ve done better than that, it’s not okay, Remus, to enjoy being hurt like that...that wasn’t playful o-or kinky, I wanted to hurt you, I did hurt you, you were crying!”

“But it was good for you, you were enjoying it, it’s okay Patton, it’s what I wanted, if I didn’t want it I wouldn’t have pushed your buttons like that.” He squeezes the other man’s hand gently. “And maybe you don’t enjoy losing control, but we can manage that, we can figure out those boundaries, as long as you stop keeping all those feelings inside because when they explode they’re no good.” He smiles up at him gently, calmly. “Come and cuddle, and we can talk about it some more.” Patton, tired, a little scared, sighs with a nod and lies down beside him.


	6. Day 6: Humiliation: Loceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is not very good at being quiet or unexpressive, so sitting at the dinner table with a vibe pressed into his underwear and trying not to let the others know, is a bit of a task. (trans!Logan) (Very light humiliation)

It’s a simple task. Or at least the way it’s described to him it’s simple; keep the vibe in his underwear, and don’t cum. Which was okay, right up until Patton invited them down for dinner and Logan was no longer free to squirm and absently grind to his own pleasure.

He sat at the dinner table with his hands shaking; although the vibe is quiet it’s _painfully_ loud to him, no-one else seems to notice and he stares at the food on his plate with his stomach doing nervous flips. The appeal of food was not all that present. 

Janus smiles warmly at him, his hand landing briefly over Logan’s clenched fist as a reminder that he needs to relax a little. 

He’s trying his very hardest not to squirm and that’s taking all of his energy. The logical side crosses his legs, picking up his fork and scooping some of the mashed potatoes off the plate and bringing it to his lips, the shake of his hands unnoticed by everyone else who was chatting around him. All day, Janus had been turning the vibe on and off so he doesn’t A) get numb or B) cum, so he’s sure the other will switch it off soon, or at least long enough for him to get a few mouthfuls of food into him.

He doesn’t, and the panic must have registered on his face as the vibe pressed deliciously and _terrifyingly_ against his clit. He shifts his hips, trying to get it somewhere that isn’t so pleasurable to stifle the little waves of arousal that are pooling in his abdomen. But only succeeds in increasing the pressure and friction, causing him to bow his head in an attempt to hide the silenced moan that tries to break through. “Do you want to stop?” Janus asks, whispered in his ear. Logan hesitates and then shakes his head slightly.

Is Janus going to push this as far as it will go? Logan is notoriously loud when it comes to sex and has no idea how quiet he can feasibly make himself be. The heat crawled up his spine and he shifted in his chair a little too, his skin flushed right down under the collar of his shirt. He grips the fork and forces some more food into his mouth like it’s a gag.

The pressure doesn’t cease, he can feel it building and building, and he can’t help but just ever so slightly shift his hips into the touch, making it seem like he was just having trouble sitting still to the others, who are by now used to the logical facet being fidgety especially if he has work to do. Janus, however, glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, and smirks.

Is he really about to cum in front of his friends? Logan glances up at them, they all seem preoccupied with the current conversation. Janus’ hand comes up to lightly massage the back of Logan’s neck and that does not help the moan that wants to rip free of him. 

“Are you okay Lolo?” Patton asks, _‘oh god, not now, don’t talk to me now,’_ Logan thinks desperately, hanging on a dangerous edge.

“He’s not feeling too well,” Janus explains. 

“Awh, well, you can go have a lie down after dinner, I’m sure Janus will take care of you.” Logan nods, ducking behind his hair and resting the palm of his hand against his forehead like he has a headache, but mostly he’s trying to hide his face. 

He bites down on his own lip firmly, trying to avoid the eyes that are looking at him (or aren’t looking at him but _feel_ like they are). He doesn’t know if he can pull this off and the panic is flushing through his system as his hips push forward and suddenly his body jolts a little. He folds his arms on the table and buries his face in them as he feels his body tense, the long day of teasing grinding to halt with just about the most intense orgasm he’s had in a while. He knows the others are looking at him, he moved far too quickly and into a position that generally dictates someone is upset. 

Logan can feel their stares as he soaks through the vibe and his underwear, cum reaching his thighs and the seat where he’s sat. He swallows his own moans by biting down on his lip, but doesn’t lift his head at all, not wanting to meet the eyes on him, he knows he won’t be able to hide the expression on his face. 

A sinking sense of shame fills his stomach; he’d just cum in front of his friends, and they’re looking at him, _do they know?_ _Do they know what he just did?_ Paranoia is replaced by a distinct sense of humiliation that the entire situation manages to bring. If they found out they’d never take him seriously again, he’d just be a little whore who couldn’t hold on until after dinner to chase his release.

The vibe is still pressed to his clit, pushing him further and he’s trying his hardest not to whimper, his body rigid from the need to squirm and gasp and...Janus rests his hand on Logan’s arm. “I think maybe it’s time for bed.” He says, gently, “thank you for the meal Patton.” Then he can feel them both sinking out. 

He stands in Janus’ room, his legs feeling shaky as he finally lets out the little whimpers he’d been craving, the vibe against his sensitive clit making his body feel weak. “You made quite the mess,” Janus’ hand dips between his soaked thighs, gripping the front of his crotch in a way that presses the vibe against him further, Logan grips his shirt and grinds his hips, gasping and moaning loudly. “Are you going to cum for me again, little slut? Was it not enough you cumming in front of everyone?” Logan shakes his head, the beautiful little sounds of pleasure rolling off his lips. “Maybe they all know, maybe they were all looking at you and thinking ‘what a whore, couldn’t even wait until he was somewhere private’.” 

Logan moans loudly, his legs locking, body tensing as his knuckles turn white in Dee’s shirt, more cum leaking out of him, sticky and wet as he reaches his orgasm. 

The vibe stop vibrating, and Janus lifts him up to place him on the bed. “You did so well baby,” he leans down to kiss to the other’s forehead, Logan takes a shuddering breath in and brings a hand up to his face, only just realising that he is in fact, crying, and the pleasure mixed with the hot sense of shame makes for an interesting cocktail of emotions. 

“D-Do you really think they noticed?”

“No, they looked too worried about you for it to be that, I think they genuinely just think you’re sick.” He helps the logical side out of his clothes, grabbing some wipes to clean him up. Logan shivers as the other’s fingers dip between his folds to clean him, more so when he grazed his clit. “Come on, bedtime for you, you really do look ready to pass out.”

“It’s been a long day,” Logan muses tiredly, scrambling into the covers with about as much energy as an injured animal might. “It was good though.”

“Yeah?”

_“Yeah.”_


	7. Day 7: Grinding/Fully Clothed: Moxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton seems sweet and innocent.

Virgil really likes Patton, they’d only known each other a couple of weeks but there is nothing about the other man that he doesn’t find himself excited to witness. They’d met online, a fluke really, just needing something to pass some time between the boring routine of jobs and work and laying alone in the darkness. Virgil had taken one look at those freckled, round cheeks and just thought he’d met an _angel_. 

In person, Patton certainly lives up to that assessment, he’s giggly and bubbly, a little naive and very childish; he always wants to see the best in every situation. There’s an innocence to him that doesn’t seem to dissolve, even when he gets shoved rather harshly by a stranger who was not quite looking where he was going, he didn’t shout or get angry, he just smiles and says “Well it happens to the best of us!” He’s not _wrong,_ but that fragile need to see the best in everybody is, in it’s own way, entirely compatible with Virgil’s urge to deck absolutely anyone who laid a hand on Patton.

In the space of a week, he found himself fiercely protective over the other man. 

But he wasn’t really sure what sort of relationship he’s going to have, Patton blushes from a kiss and looks bashful when someone holds his hand. It’s still early in the relationship so Virgil is not quite in a rush, he’s more than happy to take every second as it comes and plan absolutely nothing; after all, they’re only in their 20s, they have their entire lives to worry about things like _sex_. 

Patton finishes later than planned on the second Saturday after their initial meeting, he texts Virgil to apologise for their ruined date night, but the other just sends through a smiley face and says they’ll figure something out. Once he finally gets out of work, the evening is starting to bleed in, and he finds himself sighing as he calls Virgil to apologise again. “It’s no problem, if you want you could come here, I’ll cook!” It’d been an entirely innocent implication, Virgil had absolutely no desire to do anything but eat and watch TV, or Netflix, just relax. Patton had still blushed a little. 

“Okay, I’ll come straight over, just text me your address.” 

He turns up at Virgil’s flat with his hair a little messy, wearing his work shirt and a pair of skinny jeans, but still somehow being utterly attractive to the man who opens the door for him, smiling as he sees Patton. “It’s a little bit of a mess,” he explains, kissing the other man’s cheek gently “I tidied up the best I could whilst also cooking dinner.” 

They had spaghetti bolognese that was surprisingly nice for a man who is a self proclaimed “disaster in the kitchen.” Afterwards they watch a film on Netflix, Patton leaning his head on Virgil’s shoulder as he lets the food digest. A little sense of tiredness creeps through him as the meal settles, but he’s comfortable curled up next to the other man. 

Time just passes, they laugh at the film and make offhand comments, whilst Virgil bitterly points out every stupid move that the characters make until Patton is hiccuping through his laugher. He has such a beautiful laugh, all light and giddy and _unrestrained_. 

After the movie ends, Patton makes it known that he doesn’t have work tomorrow, so they could watch another, Virgil chooses this one and it’s not a film he even likes, but he knows that it will make Patton laugh and that’s enough for him. 

The blond leans up to press a gentle kiss to Virgil’s lips as he shuffles around to announce he’s just going to put the dishes into some water so the sauce doesn’t stick. It’s little things like that which opens up so much of someone’s personality, Virgil usually just desperately scrapes sauce off of the plate the next morning, but Patton _actually_ considered that would be an unpleasant task.

It’s a nice balance, the fact they’re such different people. 

When he comes back he leans down to kiss Virgil sweetly, the dark-haired man resting a hand on Patton’s waist as he half-kneels, half-sits beside him. 

His lips part gently for Patton, but the kiss itself remains sweet for a few moments, there was no conscious effort on either of their behalves that made it heated, it just seemed to progress like that, their tongues brushing against each other’s as they press in closer. 

Virgil considered Patton to be sweet and innocent, an easily bashful person who wears a lot of pastel and doesn’t have much care about whether or not someone takes issue to him wearing a pretty skirt. 

He did not consider, perhaps, what it would be like to be pressed down into the couch by him. 

His body lies underneath Patton’s like it’s entirely natural, the other man’s hands tugging him to lie down and then lifting his leg just a little; Virgil melts into the movements, domineering but not in a way that feels oppressive, no it more likely feels as though he’d do absolutely _anything_ for this man. 

The blond’s hand squeezes his thigh and their hips press together, Virgil inhales sharply as he feels the other’s cock pressing against his own in a way he hasn’t felt in months, his heart skips a beat in his chest and he gasps a little between their lips. “Are you okay?” Patton pulls away a little, looking down at the flushed man beneath him, Virgil nods emphatically, and chases his lips. “Been a while?” The curly-haired man hums, before he nuzzles Virgil’s head to the side and sucks at the skin of his neck. 

“Yeah,” is all Virgil can manage out, because he’s too busy whimpering. 

“That’s all right baby, I’ll take care of you,” and oh, _oh_ okay, yeah, that definitely has Virgil grinding up against the other man, his entire body flushing with the sheer excitement of anyone referring to him as _‘baby’_ _ **especially**_ Patton, sweet innocent Patton, who by the way he grips his hip and lines their cocks up together, is not sweet nor innocent. “I’ve wanted to do this since I first met you,” he mutters in Virgil’s ear, all Virgil can really think is _‘please don’t stop talking, please,_ ** _please_** _don’t stop talking,’_ “I saw your profile pic, and thought I wonder what it’d be like to pull on that hair,” Virgil ruts against the other with a whimper. “He looks like the sort of guy to lose control easy, acting all tough, but a complete mess in bed,” Virgil is making all sorts of noises that serve as encouragement to Patton. 

“And you are, you’re so easy to work up, just a kiss and then you’re desperate to lose control,” He grinds down against the body underneath him, letting out a deep moan that fans out hot against Virgil’s skin. “Desperate to have someone else get you off, eager to please,” Virgil is panting from the exertion of rocking his hips up against Patton’s, his cock achingly hard in his jeans. “That’s okay baby, I’ve got you, I’ll help you,” That little nickname just does something to Virgil, it makes his whole body feel warm and his heart hammer in his chest. “Do you like being called that? Baby? Do you need looking after, _baby boy?_ ” 

Virgil’s whole body shakes as he moans out Patton’s name, feeling like the sudden intensity of the heat in his body comes from the way this man pulls his orgasm out of him with words. His cock twitches uncomfortably in his too-tight jeans as he rides out his orgasm against the other’s body. Patton smiles against his skin, leaning up to kiss him gently. “Yes,” Virgil whispers after they part, looking a little dazed and very much speechless. “Yes I like being called that.” Patton giggles a little, pulling up to beam down at the other. Virgil shifts his thigh between the other’s leg and watches his eyes close with a low hum of arousal, the smile dying on his lips as he rocks down against the other. 

“Do you like being used to get off too?” How is this the _same_ person? One moment Patton is all flustered from a kiss and the next he’s saying things like _this._ All Virgil manages is a mute nod of his head because he feels like all the air had been knocked from his body. “Do you like the feeling of it?” He really, really does. “Am I embarrassing you? You’re blushing an awful lot.” 

“Please kiss me,” Virgil manages out and Patton leans down to kiss him, it’s a fast, heated kiss, and his cock grinds against Virgil’s leg in a way that has his own twitching weakly. He curses against Virgil’s lips, breaking away just a little as his hips jerk and he releases with a loud, growling moan of Virgil’s name. 

The other man is still not really computing what has happened. And when Patton pulls back and flops down on the couch with a satisfied sigh he’s still wrapping his head around that he doesn’t really know him. Which isn’t really a _problem,_ they’d only known each other a couple of weeks and Virgil has had plenty of one night stands so the fact he had sex with a near stranger is not an issue. Instead there’s a visceral excitement that Patton has many sides to him and he can’t wait to see them all. He leans up to press a gentle kiss to the other man’s cheek, before looking down at himself. “We should probably get into some clean clothes,” Virgil offers a short and breathless laugh with his words, shaking his head. “That was amazing though, thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Patton grins giddily, back to the sweet and innocent picture he’s become used too over the past few weeks, as if he hadn’t just cum in his pants whilst saying some rather interesting, borderline _dirty_ , things to Virgil. 

But Virgil doesn’t mind, he finds the difference relaxing, the simple understanding that there’s more than one dimension to him, it just feels...nice, to have got to experience it. He slides off the couch and holds out his hand, Patton takes it with a smile, both of them still a little giddy from the experience. 


	8. Day 8: poly/three-way: Patton/Roman/Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Patton can be teases, for sure.

It’s a warm day. It was warm way before the three of them had ended up wrapped around each other; august usually is. 

Because it was a warm day, not just warm but humid in the way that your clothes stick to your skin, Roman had decided he didn’t _need_ to wear a shirt today. So the actor walked around shirtless, his skin shining with sweat and Virgil had never really noticed how much muscle the other has; he knew Roman goes to the gym regularly but he’d also never paid quite that much attention to his roommate. He was definitely paying attention then though, the glass of water that he’d been holding shaking with his hand as the other man brushed past him.

Patton made it worse. His _other_ flatmate. 

Actually, come to think of it, the mess of hormones he’d already been in when a tall, muscled, shirtless man with sweatpants that hang far too low on his hips brushes past him, might have been the catalyst. But Patton did not help matters. No, he came down stairs in shorts and a vest and Virgil had to sit down. When did his roommates get so hot? Or is that just the mix of mid-august heat coupled with the fact it really has been a while and Patton has _really_ nice legs. His shorts are small and tight and ride up his ass when he leans up to grab something out of the cabinet, he’s so small that Roman finally laughs with a short and friendly form of pity, to lean up and get it down for him.

They’re talking, but it sounds like complete and utter static in Virgil’s ears. Just sounds that crackle. So much so he doesn’t really realise when it’s him they’re talking too. 

“What?” he says, his eyes tearing away from the side of Patton’s freckled thighs.

“I said you look like you’re spacing out kiddo, are you okay?” He plasters on some sort of smile and nods. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, always fine, you know me.”

“Mister I’m on any planet but Earth?” Roman supplies helpfully. Virgil wants to punch him, or kiss him, or _both_. 

_“Yep.”_

He turns back to his glass of water and sips it, hoping it will cool him down, or off, he really doesn’t know. The dark-haired man manages to almost choke on the water when Roman knocks the lid of the bread tin onto the floor and Patton bends over to pick it up. The shorts ride further up, and surely that’s got to hurt somewhere along the lines. It takes a hot minute to understand that Patton must be wearing briefs with shorts _that_ short and this realisation does nothing for his libido. 

Now he’s blushing. _Brilliant._

“If you’re so hot, maybe you should try not wearing all black in the middle of summer.” Roman chuckles, leaning over to ruffle his hair playfully for a moment, the contact has Virgil fighting back a whimper or closing his eyes, both things he really, _really_ wants to do. 

“I look good in black, so I’ll suffer.” 

“You do,” Patton agrees, the stray blonde curls that don’t enjoy the idea of being tamed bounce as he half walks, half skips to the fridge to pull out some milk for the bowl of cereal he’d poured for himself. “You always look nice in those jeans!” Virgil huffs a little, trying not to let the little bit of praise run straight to his cock. “Doesn’t he, Ro?” 

“I know _what_ looks nice in those jeans,” The redhead replies with a grin, shoving toast into the toaster like it isn’t the worst time to hit on Virgil ever right now.

There are too many hot men in this room, two too many, and wearing not enough clothes. “Do you walk around staring at my ass often?” Virgil uttered dryly, a sweat working up the back of his neck. 

“Oh I wasn’t talking about your ass, sweetheart,” then he turns around and winks, the small noise like a hiccup that creeps up Virgil’s throat has him reaching for his glass of water again, his cheeks even warmer. 

“I don’t think staring at his...y’know is any _better_ Roman.” 

“Yeah, Roman.” 

“Look, you put a cute guy in jeans that tight, in the middle of a heatwave, in front of me? I’m going to be looking.” The toast pops out of the toaster, and it makes Virgil jump. Nobody notices, so he just stares at his glass of water with an urge to dump it over his head. 

“Awh, you think I’m cute?” There’s some sarcastic humour to his tone, but it’s almost always lost on the actor, who spins around with a slice of toast in one hand. Roman’s eyes drag over Virgil’s body in a way that is definitely making him squirm, but the heat in those dark brown eyes, no matter how fake, has the permanent blush darkening. As if he didn’t _already_ feel like he’s on fire. 

“With cheekbones like that, you could make millions,” is the final reply given, before Roman is buttering his toast, his gaze finally off of Virgil. Patton rolls his eyes and moves over to sit next to the other with his half-eaten bowl of cereal. “Awh Pat don’t leave me! I love your face too!” The blond laughs a little, pushing cereal into his mouth and chewing. He always sits strangely, maybe it’s some sort of neurodivergent comfort thing, but he places his feet on the edge of the seat, his knees to his chest, one hand fiddling with his ankle as the other spoons food into his mouth. It’s cute, and Virgil feels a little bad for staring when his knees part and yep, those shorts cannot be good for his crotch. 

And Roman says _his_ jeans are tight. 

“Is there a man alive you wouldn’t fuck, I mean, no offence.” Virgil asks, trying to grasp to some normality.

“None taken, and that answer does depend on how much money they have.” Virgil exhales a laugh through his nose, because that’s just a very Roman reply to give (and also he’s very much broke). He’s just about calmed down a little when Roman takes the seat on his other side and leans very, very closely to mutter: “So you best start emptying your wallet.” 

He’d really just wanted to drink some water, now he fears there’s not enough water on this planet to cool down the feeling of Roman’s breath against his ear. 

“Sorry, that goes to the rent man,” he replies, acutely aware of how strangled his voice suddenly sounds, he swears he hears Patton laugh softly on his other side. Are they doing this on purpose? “I’m usually the one borrowing your money to cover the cost of this place.” 

Roman laughs gently, and the air exhaled from his throat ghosts Virgil’s cheek and neck, despite the fact he’s leaned back perhaps an inch. “I can work for free at least twice a month.” 

“Only twice?” He’s definitely a little breathless and his pants are much tighter than he’d recalled a second ago. 

“I work for free all year around,” Patton laughs, although it’s more like a giggle, soft and light without too much heaviness behind it; Virgil thinks perhaps he’s trying to keep him calm, but then the hand that was fumbling with his own ankle comes out to rest on Virgil’s wrist just so, the fingertips leaning to the back of his hand to trace what feels like every single fucking nerve he has. 

“Are you two doing this on purpose?” He blurts out, because his brain is misfiring his thoughts and such simple touches shouldn’t have his cock half-hard in his jeans. 

“Absolutely.”

“Do you mind?” Virgil looks to Patton with his quiet question, and though there is mischief in his eyes his _smile_ is just his own, small and a little shy. “You’re just very pretty, we’ve kind of been trying for a while now.” 

“You have?” Roman laughs on his other side, abandoning the food that he suspects neither of them really wanted to eat as he stands very close to Virgil, even when they’re stood the actor is very imposing; tall, broad-shouldered, his arms would be enough to lift Virgil clean off the ground and fuck him into a wall. 

Now there’s a thought. 

“I’ve been flirting with you since you moved in.” Roman notes, and yes he had, but Virgil’d just assumed that was what the man was like, he’s like that with _Patton_ , they’re incredibly affectionate but they had also known each other for years prior to... ** _oh._**

“Are you two dating?” Patton laughs properly then, nodding his head. “Why didn’t you…?”

“Tell you?” The blond has this smile on his face that exclaims that Virgil is an idiot, a moron, a fool, and he loves that. “Well, I thought you would put two and two together, we go to bed at the same time, one of us is almost always sleeping in the other person’s room, we kiss and cuddle and…” Okay yeah, Virgil is _definitely_ the moron here. “Did you think we were just... _friends?”_

“I mean, I figured close friends but...wait if you’re both dating...and now you’re flirting with me am I like? A spice-up-your-relationship sort of thing?”

“Dude, if we just wanted someone to spice up our relationship we wouldn’t choose a guy we’ve lived with for a year,” Roman snorts, leaning against the counter as he brings a hand up to brush Virgil’s hair out of his eyes. “Or someone we have to continue living with, for that matter, we’d just get Tinder like everyone else.” 

“So then...what?”

“You’re cute,” Roman starts. 

“And funny!” Patton adds. 

“You have a _great_ ass.”

“And you give the _best_ hugs!” 

“And you have nice eyes.”

“And a _great_ personality.” Virgil feels his cheeks flush as they bat compliments back and forth so he holds a hand up to stop them, not entirely sure he can handle any more. 

He’d always known Roman is _hot_. Always thought Patton is _cute_. Never really considered any more than that, they’re his flatmates and friends, but today has felt like the longest day of his life watching the two of them walk around in what he now understands was definitely bait. 

He doesn’t know if he loves them, _obviously,_ he cares about them greatly as friends, and he would absolutely love to see what Roman’s strength is like, and whether Patton is really as sweet and innocent as he looks. 

He’d like to know a lot about the other two actually, and he supposes that’s the point of relationships. “Okay, I don’t know where it’s going to go but I suppose I won’t know until I try.” He gives a small, nervous smile. “Also it’s been a while since anyone has shown me absolutely any form of love and affection that wasn’t platonic so if I lose my mind in the space of five minutes, I apologise in advance.”

“That’s fine,” Patton reassures, his fingertips back to setting fire to every single one of Virgil’s nerves. Roman’s fingers comes up again to run slowly through his hair, causing his eyes to flutter shut as his head tilts back with the movement. He hears Roman sigh but not in the frustrated or angry sense, he sounded utterly content, and when he feels a pair of lips on his own, gently, far too gently for the state he’d managed to work himself up into, he immediately kisses back despite the way his whole body seems to tense for a brief moment. 

The hand in his hair tightens, the one on his wrist slides up his arm delicately but with purpose. Virgil parts his lips for who he assumes is Roman, because when he parts his lips he kisses with a fierce and demanding sort of passion that suits his personality in every way. Then they pull away (yes it is Roman), and those gentle fingertips tilt his chin towards Patton who kisses him with all the softness in the world. Caring, careful, everything that he is. 

When he pulls away, he quietly asks, dazed: “Can you hold up my entire body weight?” it comes out a little blurrier and far less articulate than he’d planned, but Roman laughs anyway. He pulls Virgil’s legs towards him and lifts him with so much ease that the rush of adrenaline and arousal he’d experienced before comes back at a dizzying rate. He leans down to kiss Roman again, feeling hands squeeze the back of his thighs; their bodies are pressed together and he knows Roman can feel the fact he’s hardening from simplicity, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. 

He can’t remember the last time his body was touched by anyone but himself. 

Virgil is set down on the breakfast bar at the sound of movement, Patton sliding off the stool, Roman moves to the side a little bit and then there’s two sets of hands on his body, one of Roman’s twisting through his hair, and one on his left thigh, whilst Patton’s hand ghosts up the inner thigh of his right leg and his other slips under Virgil’s shirt. 

He makes a small noise as he leans down to kiss the smaller man, his weight leaning on one hand as Roman’s lips press to his neck, and tongue and teeth. 

Virgil’s hips rock a little just for a slight hint of friction from his pants, and the movement does not go unnoticed. Patton’s hands move to push the shirt up and off his body, his lips then moving to one of his nipples, sucking gently at the pink bud enough to have the other whimpering desperately. Roman squeezes his thigh and he’s sure his heart is going to give out from all the damn teasing. 

“Can you…?” Roman’s hands pop the button of his jeans, pulling the zipper down, Virgil lifts his hips a little as his flatmates (friends, whatever the _fuck_ this is going to be), rid him of his jeans and underwear. 

“It’s far too hot for that many clothes.” Roman whispers in his ear, before tugging the lobe between his teeth. “Besides, I think I like you much more like this.” Then he moves, pulls away a little, Patton shifts to the side just enough for Roman’s head to move between Virgil’s thighs, taking his cock in his mouth. 

Virgil wishes he could categorise what sort of noise left his mouth, but it’s definitely something strangled and full of arousal. 

“You’re so pretty,” Patton hums, leaning up to kiss him heatedly. 

“You’re both wearing too many clothes.” Virgil manages between the kisses and moans. Roman looks up at him with a slightly raised eyebrow, but once their eyes meet the other can’t help but watch the stretch of Roman’s lips around his cock. “Fuck,” he leans back, taking deep breaths as he just watches for a moment, before shaking his head, his body feeling too warm too soon. “This is going to be over very fast if you keep doing tha-at, holy _fuck_.” His hips jolt as Roman sucks at the head of his cock, his tongue moving against the head, and then he pulls off, letting the other cool down before he ends up coming far sooner than he’d like. 

“Bedroom?” Roman asks. Virgil nods, and then he’s being lifted up off the counter, his arms wrapping around Roman’s neck. 

“It feels nice doesn’t it?” Patton asks, his tone playful and excited as they head to one of their rooms. “He’s so strong.” His hand trails down Roman’s bare back just so and Virgil feels the shiver it brings. 

There’s so much, too much power in gentle touches. Perhaps more so than the harder ones, or the desperate ones, because the gentle ones convey two things: “I _care_ about you,” and “I _want_ you.” And in the process they leave you yearning for more. 

The moment Virgil is on the bed he’s fumbling with Roman’s sweatpants, Patton sits cross-legged on the bed just watching them for a minute, biting his lips as he observes all the points that their bodies meet, his eyes lingering on Virgil’s hard, thick cock. “I wanna ride you,” he mutters quietly, and Virgil pulls away from a warm kiss, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, before he nods emphatically. Roman leans over to grab some lube out of the bedside cabinet, moving to sit up against the headboard and let Patton take over. 

The dark-haired man sits at the edge of the bed as Patton slides off it, standing between his bare legs with a smile on his lips that is unlike any smile he’d seen Patton give; it’s not soft, or giggly, it’s just... _heat,_ a smirk as he takes Virgil’s hands and guides them to the waistband of his shorts like the other man is incapable of doing it himself. For a moment, he really wonders if he is. 

He opens the buttons to the shorts and slides them down, finding himself whimpering as he realises that yes, Patton is wearing briefs; more specifically he’s wearing a thong, the thin blue material hardly containing his hard, thick cock. Precum dampens it, leaking through, and Virgil almost doesn’t want him to take them off. He leans forward and presses his tongue to the hard length through the underwear, the texture against his tongue as he creates just enough friction for Patton to groan, his hand coming up to wrap through his hair. That movement too, is not gentle, or soft, he can feel the tension of each strand from the grip the other man has. 

He gets the distinct feeling he may have jumped to a conclusion when it comes to Patton. 

“Do you want to watch, or would you like to stretch me?” 

Virgil makes a quiet noise at the back of his throat. “I want to watch,” he utters breathlessly, because he does, because nothing entices him more than seeing the two of them how they usually work, their natural dynamics. “...Please,” he adds, and his voice sounds so soft and high that it really _is_ a plea. 

Patton leans down to kiss him with a firmness that commands, easing Virgil back onto the bed. He pulls away after a moment and the dark-haired man shifts up the bed sit up against the headboard next to Roman. The blond settles in his boyfriends lap, leaning down to kiss Roman; but not the way he kisses Virgil, despite the position and the way Roman always seems to tower over everyone, Patton kisses him demandingly like he’s never been so in control in his life, his hand sliding up to the actor’s neck but not squeezing, just resting his hand against him like he’s feeling every breath the other takes. 

Virgil watches with rapt attention as Roman lubes up his fingers, as Patton raises his hips a little. He watches as the taller teases Patton’s entrance just a little, then slowly presses those fingers into him. It’s an entrancing movement, but his eyes trail over Patton’s body as he moves, his thighs shaking, his back arching under the touch of Roman’s free hand, his chest rising with the breaths he takes as the other man kisses and sucks at the skin he can access. Virgil can’t help but kneel up to kiss him softly, with great care on his tongue that turns so hungry that it’s as though itself is running out. 

When he finally pulls away breathlessly, Roman leans up for a kiss too, his fingers still working his boyfriend open as his tongue slides against Virgil’s in a way that makes him tremble with a burning desire to be touched. Not just his cock, but his whole body needs more contact in every place he can fathom. 

He can feel their movements in the flow of the kiss and the dips of the bed, and somehow there is something illicitly arousing in just...mapping out those movements in his mind’s eye, not even watching just...feeling it. When the kiss is broken it’s because the blond is pressing his hands in a demanding way to his chest and moving off of Roman’s lap. 

He strokes his length slowly with some lube and then grips the base, allowing Patton to settle on his lap; the few seconds in which the smaller man sinks down on his cock has his brain firing off signals that he didn’t even know he had. His head feels like it loses all thought for a second, biting his lip for a grasp of composure and control. 

Roman, sitting on his other side, presses open-mouthed kisses to his cheek and neck, his hand tracing circles over his nipple as he nips at his skin just so. The touches to his body has him shaking, his hips shifting just a little as the man in his lap rolls his hips. Patton’s hand runs through the mess of Roman’s hair, pulling him into a forceful kiss. Roman’s hand wraps around Patton’s cock, jerking him with the thrusts; his movements are so practised, he doesn’t falter in the slightest and Virgil is starting to understand that Roman’s endurance is far, far greater than his own. 

The blond in his lap fucks himself onto Virgil’s cock with little moans of pleasure, he isn’t loud but there _is_ a long string of curses and gasps and praise; Virgil’s hands rest on his hips and he follows the movement of each roll of Patton’s hips as he fucks up into the other slowly over and over again. 

Virgil doesn’t know how much resilience he really has, but the way Roman touches Patton seems to drive the other man a little crazy too. He can feel the heat of his orgasm approaching, rolling through him in sharp shocks of pleasure. Patton grins at him breathlessly as he tries to hold back, hold on, his cock aching for release. “Are you going to cum for me sweetheart?” He asks him, his eyes dark with some form of demand. His tone is enough. Virgil releases, his moans loud and unrestrained as his hips jerk and his head leans against the wall with a resounding _thud_. Patton rides him through his orgasm, his hand coming up to cup Virgil’s cheek as he leans down to kiss him fiercely. But he doesn’t move off of him, as Roman touches him, and then his body is jerking too, the stimulation of the small man clenching around him, hips jerking making him whimper as cum drips down on his own stomach and over Roman’s hand. 

Patton pulls off him slowly then, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s forehead, and then to Roman’s lips equally sweetly. 

Roman is half-hard with his thighs grazing each other for some form of stimulation. Virgil leans over to kiss him with a distinct heat, his nails running down the other man’s chest as the kisses trail to his neck. Patton crawls between Roman’s legs and his legs spread to accommodate the small body. The blond wraps his hand around his cock at first, stroking him to full hardness whilst Virgil’s hand busies itself with the taller’s nipple. 

Then, Patton leans down to suck at his cock, sucking at the head before he takes his lover’s cock down his throat, his head bobbing with the long movements. Roman whimpers a little, his head tilting back against the wall; all the sensations that wrap around his body send him into some form of small frenzy, hips jerking but not jarred or hard, a little bit of extra friction. 

Taking Roman apart is easier than it looks, when all that strength dissolves he is just another person whimpering underneath the touches of his partners. His back arches when Virgil leans down to suck at his nipple, his hips jerk as Patton sucks at the head of his touch. He’s also very vocal, each syllable of Virgil’s name refuses to be lost in the whine that Roman gives, which he repeats frantically, both of their names, his body far too hot and feeling like electricity underneath the sensations. 

He manages to give something of a warning as Patton takes him down his throat, his body twitches with the force of his orgasm, babbling out their names like he’d just peaked in insanity itself. 

Then he’s just breathless and squirming as Patton massages the head of his cock with his tongue, until reluctantly lifting his head to grin. Virgil smiles and rests his head on Roman’s shoulder, his heart skipping beats in his chest as he manages a deep breath in and out. Patton flops down on Roman’s other side, nuzzling against his cheek before curling up against his lover. The three of them are a little sweaty and gross, and the taste of cum on Patton’s tongue is not a nice one, but they just need a moment to breathe. 

Then Virgil smiles and whispers _“holy shit.”_ and the spell is broken, laughter breaking out between them.


	9. Day 9: Monsterfucking: Intrulogical, analogical, Loceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan seems to have a bit of a thing for monsters.

During his time in education, Logan has come across many odd people of all genders, he’d met a girl with antlers, a boy with pitch black eyes, a person who sometimes and occasionally levitated, and he had of course...met _these_ particular men. The men this entire story revolves around. 

Human society had long since accepted the fact that sometimes people are just not human; it happens, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t uncomfortable around the half-humans or even the entirely not-humans that live amongst them. Logan finds this odd, he’s been given no reason to believe that these people have any reason to harm him any more or less than he’d have that suspicion for a full-human. So when he comes to filling out his university forms and there’s those little tick boxes that state: “Are you comfortable sharing a flat with non-human persons of all genders?” he just ticks yes, because he really couldn’t care less. 

And that was that, he didn’t really think anything of it for a while, not even when he was moving in; he was about as uninterested in his roommates as any person who actually came to university to enjoy the course would be. The dark-haired man had never been good with social, his mother joked that perhaps his great-great-grandfather had been some sort of sprite, hiding out in hollows in a desperate attempt to avoid interaction. Logan, unsurprisingly, does not think there is anything magical about himself. He’s too plain, too boring, his hair a dull, dark brown, his eyes a blank sort of grey, his structure as a person neither pretty nor ugly...he’s just made to blend in.

He meets his flatmates around four days into him actually living there, not all at once though, there’s a human by the name of Remy who he finds pushing eye-watering amounts of coffee jars into his cupboard, another that has eyes far too... _purple_ to be human, named Virgil, although Logan has no idea what he is. A man with scales covering half of his face, by the name of Janus (of whom Logan assumes has some Dragon parentage somewhere along the lines) and the last... _Remus_. 

There were many descriptors for this man. If “man” is a descriptor one would use for it. 

“Remus, I respond to all pronouns, but I have a preference for it/its.” Then it grinned, toothily, with fanged teeth that looked almost wolfish, tilting it’s horned head to the side and staring at Logan like he’s a meal ready to be eaten. Not in the cannibalistic sense, Logan does know when someone is attempting to hit on him even if he’s lived under a rock. 

Although the longer he stares into its inky eyes, the more he wants to fall into them. “Demon?” Logan asks curiously. 

“Incubus, to be specific.” Right, the staring look suddenly makes so much more sense, and the heat that it brings him too. 

“That’s...nice,” he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable, he just doesn’t know what to say. “What are you studying?”

“English Language,” Logan blinks several times, Remus grins toothily again. “A guy’s gotta have a hobby, what are you studying?”

“Astronomy.” Remus nods and then points to the kitchen cupboard by way of asking if it can squeeze past, Logan steps to the side and really tries to ignore the disappointment on its expression when he didn’t stay within touching distance. Not that Logan’s opposed, it just that seemed the polite thing to do. “So does being magical give you...powers of any kind?” 

“Yep,” it pops the ‘p’ at the end of the word, whilst rescuing what looks like a dented tin of soup from it’s cupboard. “I’d ask if you’d like to see but I’d need your consent first.” Flirtation drips from its words and Logan can derive that being the offspring of an incubus would generally mean powers to do with the art of lust. 

“Maybe one day,” he replies with a small smile, all that gets back is a little wink, before he grabs his own food and leaves the kitchen. 

He gets to know his roommates a little better after a small incident in the middle of the city. As Janus and Remus needed shopping and Remus had decided to make that the other man’s problem, Logan and Virgil agreed to tag along (Remy was a little busy playing tonsil tennis with his boyfriend and nobody really wanted to disturb that). 

They were just chatting, well, Janus and Virgil were having some lighthearted discourse on Draconic versus Faery magic, and Remus was busy jumping into puddles from the previous night’s downpour, for the most part Logan was just smiling to himself as he listened to his companions bicker in a playful sort of way. 

It happened really fast, Remus had turned around to get their attention as it braced itself for jumping into a puddle that took up half the minorly sunken pavement, and someone walking past grabbed him and shoved him backwards into a puddle. Remus is not heavy, it’s very tall and very thin and has the coordination of someone who doesn’t know how to control their own limbs, so it tumbles back very easily. Wincing as it sat in the puddle, before deciding it’s not really all that upset about the situation, and splashing the water. “What the fuck?” Virgil shouted after the man.

“Virgil, come on we don’t need to be getting arrested today,” Janus warned, and Logan glanced between them like he has no idea what’s happening. 

“I don’t understand,” he finally says, feeling a little stupid for perhaps the first time in his life. He notices people glance at Remus, walking around it with this look on their faces. 

“It’s an incubus,” Virgil muttered, before brushing past to help the other up. Remus’ hands are wet and the faery does not seem all that happy about the water, shaking his head as he stares at Remus’ soaked shorts. Logan still does not understand, he looks at Janus helplessly for an explanation and the other sighs softly. 

“Incubi mostly get treated in both societies like...well...they’re only good for one thing.” 

“I am only good for one thing, but I am good at it!” Remus beams cheerfully, its eyeliner is smudged. “Now come on I’m hungry!” Logan trails behind them with his mind racing. Why would Remus agree to a statement like that? He knows if someone had said that to him, he’d be angry, upset...furious...heartbroken. And that’s not a term that he uses lightly, but the implication that Remus has no other purpose but to be used like it’s no more than a toy is... _disgusting_. 

It’s even _worse_ that it agrees. 

Logan does not ask anymore questions, although he has many. 

He learns a lot of things that he’s glad he learned, but it does hurt to learn. For example, as he spends more time with the magical humans, he learns that the idea of equality is only really something thrown up on newspapers for the sake of it. And that people are always afraid of them. 

“In some ways I have it easy,” Janus hums, making popcorn whilst Virgil figures out how to put batteries in a TV remote, giving up and just using his magic. “Virgil too, if he’d stop glamouring himself all the time, but dragons and faeries...we’re parts of specific magical societies that to this day are worshipped like gods.” He shrugs “...people are scared of us, but we’re not hurt because we exist, not like Remus, people like Remus don’t come around out of a happy love.” The microwave pings and he pulls out the bowl of popcorn. “There’s no happy situation with an Incubus and a human, what happens, just...happens, that’s not its fault but people will always treat it as though it could be no-one else's fault.” 

Logan feels uncomfortable, not that he has this information, but this cold sinking feeling that everytime Remus has hit on him it’s because it has no idea how to just...be a _friend._

Then Remus walks into the room and skip-hop-jumps on top of Virgil in an attempt to startle the jumpy Faery, only for Janus to choke on his popcorn with laughter as the purple-eyed man pokes his head up from the side of the Incubus’ body looking rather unimpressed where he’s sandwiched against the couch that he’d just got comfortable on. 

And Logan laughs, because Remus really _does_ look happy, and despite the disgruntled expression on Virgil’s face, so does everyone else. 

They watch a movie, and he falls asleep with his head on Remus’ shoulder entirely by accident. 

\--

“What do you mean you’ve _never_ been to a club?” Remus asks some weeks later, wearing a fishnet shirt and leather pants with the most atrociously spiked platform boots. It’s really rocking the goth look, but somehow Logan doubts pastel pink would be Remus’ style. 

“I’ve just...never been.” The astronomy student replies weakly. 

“That’s a sin,” Remy pipes up from behind a cup of coffee, his neck littered in hickeys and his attempt at walking without a limp fooling nobody. 

“A _crime,_ ” Janus adds, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Yes, I’ll go with you, just stop _staring_ at me,” Logan finally concludes, opening a cupboard door so forcefully that he almost flies with it. “I don’t really have outfits for that however,” he adds, only to regret it around an hour later. 

Turns out, him not having the clothes meant he was being handed an assortment of his roommates; which is how he found himself in very tight ripped skinny jeans (courtesy of Janus), a ‘distressed’ shirt, which really distresses _him_ from all the holes (thanks Remy) and a pair of boots that actually weren’t that bad, they’re just black boots (thank you Virgil). 

“You look hot,” Remus remarks, leaning its head on Logan’s shoulder as though it really intends for its warm breath to fan out against the most sensitive parts of the shorter man’s neck. For a moment, Logan was actually very sure it was about to kiss the skin, with how close he can feel its breath. “Those jeans look wonderful on you,” it leans up again and bounces over to the front door, leaving the other man to remember how to speak. 

Logan doesn’t really get drunk that night, he drinks enough to feel a bit dizzy, but not enough that he’s going to black out, he spends most of it at the bar just watching the crowds and the lights and feeling the energy. It’s a little exhausting being around so many people. A stranger talks to him for some of it, he encourages Logan to drink some more but he never really gets an answer because suddenly he’s being pulled onto the dancefloor hands-first by an incubus that looks just a little... _angry_. And that’s all he really knows before Remus’ hands are pulling him closer and they’re dancing. 

For a sweet moment, he actually thinks maybe the half-demon is feeling...possessive. But then decides that there is nothing interesting enough about him, for anyone to feel remotely like he belonged to them. 

After a while though, Logan really is tired, and goes outside for some time to himself, the loudness starting to produce a migraine. He stands outside in the cold for a little while, eyes closed and head resting against the brick wall. “Hey,” his silence is interrupted by a voice and a presence that disturbs his quiet. “I didn’t get to buy you a drink earlier…” oh, it’s the stranger from earlier, he shakes his head and opens his eyes. 

“I’ve had enough for tonight thanks,” Logan smiles tightly, shifting away from a man he doesn’t know who is standing uncomfortably close. 

“Awh come on, just one drink, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’m not interested,” he replies shortly, a little irritated. The whole demeanour of the stranger changes. 

“Why, because of your pet slut? You can’t actually be dating that, all they ever want is sex.” Logan’s jaw clenches a little as he swallows dryly down his throat. 

“Go away.” He says firmly, not interested in the niceties for a moment longer. 

“Let me show you an actual good time, you know, a normal human being and not a wh-” Logan punches him. _Hard._ He’s pretty sure there’s blood coming out of the other’s nose but the sheer hot rage that boils through him doesn’t cease, so he kicks him in the stomach for good measure. There’s a feeling like electricity firing off his nerves, he looks down at his hands and they feel like they’re not there despite the sharp pain. 

“I can promise you it can show me a better time than you can, at least when I say no, it listens.” The club doors open again, and he can hear Janus’ drunken laughing and Virgil’s voice raising a pitch higher which means they’re having one of their little arguments. But the laughter ceases when they clamber up the stairs onto the street and find Logan stood there, hands clenched into fists. 

“Oh fuck,” Janus muttered. “Come on, go, go,” He doesn’t know what’s happening but he knows somebody's hand is pressed into his own and then they’re running. “Shit do you think he saw us?” 

“He definitely saw Remus,” Logan muttered, his expression a little absent as they finally grind to a halt a few streets over. 

“What happened?” Virgil stood in front of him looking more worried than anything. 

“He was being a bastard, so I punched him, and then I kicked him, I definitely felt something crack on one of those occasions.” He offers a weak smile, pushing his dark hair from his eyes as he finally registers the past few minutes. “Sorry, I know that...I know I shouldn’t have, he just wouldn’t stop talking and...I got so _angry._ ” 

“What did he say?” Remus asks, Logan shakes his head. 

“It doesn’t matter Re.” 

“Was it about me?” There’s a long and static pause as the human looks down at his feet and avoids either lying and telling the truth at the same time. “You punched someone over me?” Virgil moves away a little, and Logan’s staring at the spiked toes of a pair of books that are so atrocious they could only belong to one person. Long fingernails press to the base of his chin and he’s forced to look up into the inky eyes that are always so alluring. “What did he say?”

“He called you a slut, a-and he insinuated you were incapable of love and he was going to call you something else and I just...I didn’t want to hear it, so I punched him.”

“Do you think any of that is true?”

“No, _of course_ not.” Remus nods with a small smile.

“Then that’s all that matters, you can’t punch everyone Logan, you have to learn how to live with the fact that this is just how it is...it’s just who I am, I accepted it a long time ago.” 

“It’s not right,” Logan shakes his head “how can you just accept it?” 

Remus shrugs, and smiles, it’s wide and cheerful. “Because I can’t fight everyone, I don’t have the time or energy, but I’m not alone, there’s so many people like me in the world that even when it does feel hard, and scary, I know that we’ll get through it...we have too, but on my own I’m just not as strong and neither are you...you have to choose a time to keep your head on straight, and a time to be angry.” 

“In the end it puts us in more danger if you aggravate these people, it gives them fuel to hurt us.” Janus adds softly. “I appreciate you standing up for Remus, we all do, but you’re going to have to learn how to shrug it off too...it’s right, we can’t just break off and fight this alone, that’s why we have communities and allies, we organise how to fight so that we don’t end up backed into a corner.” 

“I have so much to learn.” Logan leans his head on Remus’ chest, it chuckles gently and wraps its arms around him, he’d never felt remotely more safe despite his brief act of what had surely seemed like the heroics of Icarus before he got burned up by the sun. 

“And you will, I _promise_ , but for now, it’s definitely bedtime for you.” 

When they get back to the flat, Janus and Virgil say goodnight and retreat to their rooms looking exhausted. Logan stands in the hallway for a moment, looking up at his own door with a drained sort of expression. Remus leans against its own room and raises an eyebrow. “Remus...I…” he looks up at the other, who leans up and takes two long strides to stand in front of the smaller man. Logan looks up at it with so much awe and wonder, he wants to know what those horns feel like under his fingertips, if those teeth can bite as sharply as they look. 

But more importantly, for a whole, crashing moment, he wants to _love_ this person. 

“I...I’m not...I can’t...I…” Remus smiles and its hand comes up to rest on Logan’s cheek gently. “Please,” Logan whispers, his voice about to crack. And Remus kisses him. 

He feels that feeling, the adrenaline, the little spark of electricity and the kiss is so addictive he’s scared he might faint if he pulls away. The push and pull of their bodies ending up with him pressed against the door until: “...wait, stop.” Remus pulls away and stands almost two inches away, as if it’d been pushed. “I don’t...I don’t want you to think this is all you’re good for,” Logan whispers. “Because sometimes at least, it seems like that’s what you think and...you’re good for so much more than that, I don’t want to sleep with you and then you think that’s it...I like you, I care about you and maybe one day I’ll even love you but I don’t want you to ever think that’s what you’re good for, not for me or anyone, you’re worth so much more than desire.”

Remus nods with a small sight. “Logan, I know it’s not all I’m good for, but I like being good for it...not because I’m an Incubus and maybe because of the way people have treated me and do treat me...but because I know that I’m good for it, that is a statement of empowerment for me.” 

“Shouldn’t it be... _degrading?_ ” 

Remus shrugs, then shakes its head. “Maybe to some people, but feeling degraded as a personal experience is not the same as a common consensus on what degradation is.” It sounds smarter when it opens up, like underneath all the flirting and the impulsiveness, there really is someone there who does know it’s intelligent...it just doesn’t _want_ to be. “If I let this feel degrading, then it would destroy me Logan; and as harsh as it sounds, one bit of care is not going to change my past, or my future, I have to take this on as a state of reclamation or I will never be happy at all.” The words send a shiver down Logan’s spine; he had never considered that one could grow to enjoy this sort of thing. When people talk about Remus like that, when they treat Remus like that...it fills him with such an intense fury and sickness. But Remus is okay, he wouldn’t be okay, but Remus, _somehow,_ is. 

He’d never been so in awe of one person in his life. 

“I understand.” he finally manages out. Remus takes his hand in its own and steps closer, its hand comes up to cup Logan’s jaw with its nails grazing against his skin and then it kisses him, hard and warm and forceful, Logan’s back pushed to the door. 

He doesn’t feel any guilt when they both tumble into his room, the reassurance a fluttery feeling of warmth as his shirt is pulled off his body. Remus’ body is warm, hot, its eyes even darker, as they wrestle out of their clothes. 

By the time his cock is inside it he feels like every fiber of his being is electric. “You asked me about my powers,” Remus utters, rolling its hips down as Logan’s cock buries deep into it. “Still want to know?”

“Fuck, yes.” 

A hot feeling burns in his mind, pushing and pulling at his brain as the most intense ecstasy curls through his fragile body. Remus’ nails run over his wrists, its weight leaning down to pin Logan to the bed. It rests its forehead against his own and the other can feel the horns ever so slightly. The pleasure intensifies, rocking through his entire body in a way he had never felt, his skin sensitive and burning, his muscles jolting, like he’s hanging on an everlasting edge that he can’t fall over. 

He’d never been so hard in his life. 

That’s when he feels it, an intrusion that he hadn’t had before, the feeling of someone else's pleasure inside his own body and now it was like he was being fucked whilst Remus presses down on his cock. 

He doesn’t come for a long time. He just finds himself in this eternal pleasure, to the point he has tears in his eyes, babbling out pleas to the incubus. Then finally, Remus pushes one last time and his eyes roll as though the other had reached into his body and dragged his orgasm out of him. 

He’s shaking, he’s crying, he’d never felt pleasure like that in his life. 

Remus leans off of him, a grin on its lips that is almost pleased and mostly smug. “Fuck,” Logan whispers, his voice weak and high, his eyes unfocused. His returns to the bedroom he had never left with a hungry and forceful look, he wraps his arm around Remus and flips them over so that it is underneath him, a look in its eyes that is heated with lust as Logan moves down its body to take its cock in his mouth. His fingers replace where his cock had been, pulling whimpers and whines and jolts out of Remus’ heaving body until the other is gasping out Logan’s name like the word is something utterly _unholy_. 

He doesn’t think anyone has ever said his name like that. 

Remus comes with noises that couldn’t have been quiet even if it’d tried. Logan knows the entire flat hears them, he doesn’t care, swallowing the sweet release on his tongue before he crawls up the other’s body to kiss him. There’s a distinct sense of ownership in tasting yourself on someone else's tongue. 

The half-demon grins up at the ceiling, and Logan rests his head on its chest, the two of them drifting off to sleep together. 

\--

Their strange relationship continues for a long time. Weeks come and go, and Logan is almost certain he loves Remus, and Remus is definitely certain that he loves Logan. But the two of them are restless, and the demon has no concept of monogamy, it’s not in his DNA. He admits that fairly early on, but Logan has no qualms with that. He too is young, and has a lot he wants to experience. 

But this time it comes out of _nowhere_. 

With Remus there had been a build up, the slow realisation he cares about someone enough to want a relationship with them. But this had been out of nowhere, something he hadn’t meant to experience but just seeing it made his whole body feel...hot. 

Maybe he has a thing for monsters. 

Virgil spends most of his life with a glamour up, but Logan is distinctly aware of the fact the other man is Fae. They’d discussed it on many occasions...he’d just never seen Virgil’s real body. The other man had described it as “freakish” and “scary,” but Logan doesn’t know if that is true at all or an internalised feeling of hatred that one too many foul words had brought the otherwise attractive man.

Logan hadn’t even meant to be home, maybe that’s why Virgil was relaxing, he had explained that glamours tend to take up a lot of energy, so it would make sense that occasionally he drops it when he’s not expecting anyone home.

He’d brought the shopping in, pushed open the kitchen door and there was Virgil, sat on the back of the couch; they’d both jumped a little and Virgil’s cheeks had flushed red, eyes wide in a distinct sense of horror. Logan had dropped the shopping bags, his eyes wide. “Holy _fuck,”_ he whispered in some sense of reverie. 

**_“Don’t look!”_** Virgil had replied, his voice like a shadow or a storm. 

“You look _beautiful_ ,” and Virgil had stiffened, his back straight, his purple eyes wide. But he _does,_ this isn’t a lie; scientifically, artistically this man is utterly... _stunning._ Logan had never been much of an artist but he wants to draw him over and over again. 

“You’re a spider,” Logan whispers, approaching the other slowly, his lips in some dazed smile. “Can I…?” He stares, and stares, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable to Virgil, who has never been described as _beautiful._

The legs, protruding at the sides of his back, that must bury into his spine...are spider legs, just about large enough to support his body if he needed them too. “I’ve never seen a faery like you.” He whispers. 

“There’s not many faeries like me.” Virgil admits. “Sometimes faeries get the marks of animals...antlers, horns, butterfly wings, but I got the freakiest fucking insect known to man.” 

“Spiders are _cute,_ ” Logan muttered softly. “What are they for?”

“Climbing mostly, they’re sticky-ish so it helps climb up buildings and things like that, or trees I suppose.” 

“Can you make webs?” Virgil nods.

“With my hands.” Logan looks completely awestruck, his hand coming up to brush over the hairs of the legs slowly, they tremble under his touch. “I also have venom, but I can choose when it’s released.” He opens his mouth to show off the sharp fangs.

“What does it do?”

“Paralyses, usually, but in minimal amounts just...relaxes, like smoking marijuana,” (of course he doesn’t just say _weed,_ why would he?) Logan feels weak in his body, an overwhelming want creeping through him like a waterfall cascading down his spine. He wants Virgil, and he wants him like _this_ too, but he also _likes_ Virgil as a friend or companion, and he doesn’t want to lose that either. “You have that look in your eyes,” the faery comments casually, a small smirk on his lips. “Is this turning you on?” Logan’s cheeks flush and his hand jumps back to his own chest, Virgil’s hands come up to wrap around his wrists not firmly or tugging, but just holding. “It’s okay if it is, don’t panic, we’re all adults here.” 

“A little,” Logan admits sheepishly “...but I also really like you as a friend and I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” 

“My boundaries are not the same as human boundaries, the concept of sex is not embarrassing for me to discuss or indulge in.” Logan nods. “So if you’re offering, I will take.” 

“I’m offering,” Logan whispers, his voice cracking with some level of anxiety and desire and disbelief. 

Virgil kisses him suddenly and without warning, sliding off the couch and pushing until Logan’s body hits the wall with a force so intense his head bounces off it, and then he’s caged in there, the legs spreading out and holding his body prisoner. He should be scared or panicking but instead he’s just hard and whimpering, his body pressing back against Virgil’s as the faery’s human hands rip at his shirt, his thigh sliding between Logan’s legs. “How intense do you like it?”

“If I need you to stop I’ll tell you.” Virgil nods, his hands pinning Logan’s wrists above his head, something like silk, sticky and heavy wraps around them and he finds he can’t move them at all. 

They’re still in the kitchen, and anyone could come home at any moment. He thinks this is something Remus would enjoy watching. 

The faery leans down to undo his shoes, sliding them off, then his pants and underwear, which he steps out of. And then Logan is naked, just like that. In the kitchen. **_Where anyone can walk in._**

At this point he’s just hoping it won’t be Remy, that is the only expectation he’s really praying for. 

Virgil’s body caves him in, his hands gripping the other’s thighs and lifting his legs around his back with forceful strength, avoiding the spider legs that protrude from his skin very narrowly. Logan whimpers, feeling little shocks from the points in which their body meets, which he identifies as a low form of elemental magic, heating up his body slowly but surely. Of course, Virgil is no monster, he’s _magical_. A God to some, perhaps to Logan too by the end of this. “Take a deep breath in,” the faery’s voice whispers against his ear, “This won’t hurt.” Logan obeys, tilting his head to the side and jolting when Virgil’s teeth sink down into his skin. It stings for a second, and he feels the venom inching through his veins but not enough to make his body lose all control, just enough that he feels his muscles relax. One of Virgil’s hands supports his weight, whilst the other presses slowly into Logan’s body, making him whimper as he stretches so much more easily than usual. He feels slick, but not like lube usually does. His brain feels too soft around the edges to really compute.

When Virgil finally pushes his cock into him, he feels his entire body burn up but feels cold somehow at the same time, flipping between these two sensations as the faery’s forehead rests against his own, fucking him into the wall and every jolt made his arms feel sore, his back must certainly be bruised and if the back of his head hits against the plaster once more he might get concussion. 

But it feels exhilarating, brutal, wonderful. Cathartic in it’s own way, and in it he understands Remus’ love for being treated like an object of release rather than a person who has their own desires. Virgil focuses on his own pleasure, caging him in like prey, growling against his skin until with one last hard fuck into Logan’s body (a body that feels so small and fragile and _bruised_ now), he releases with a possessive sort of moan. Like a wild animal claiming their mate. 

He rests inside Logan for a moment, the two of them catching their breath. Logan hadn’t even realised he’d cum, but his stomach and cock are leaking with the sticky substance. He’d sure he’d peaked somewhere in there but his mind and body were so on fire that he’d barely registered his orgasm. 

He must have been loud. He’s sure he probably was. 

Virgil eases out of him, letting him to the ground as he untangles the web from Logan’s wrists and let’s the man slump against him, tired and exhausted. “Are you okay, Lo?”

 _“Amazing,”_ the human mutters, dazed and ecstatic. “Can I kiss you?” Virgil smiles and leans down to kiss him sweetly. There’s cum leaking out of his ass and his skin is all sweat and blush, and a distinct sense of confusion rests in his mind, but he feels euphoric, and if nothing else he’s _happy_. 

The venom is starting to wear off and his strength returns, along with the audacity to feel just a little embarrassed about fucking in the kitchen. 

He hears the front door unlock and his whole body stiffens. Virgil snorts as Logan buries his face in the other’s neck for the inevitable. 

“Holy shit,” it’s just Remus, holding a bag with takeaway in one hand and a smirk in the other. It laughs softly into its palm. “Y’all need to get some air freshener next time you even think about fucking in here again.” Its gaze travels to Logan who is blushing and refusing eye contact, he looks sore all over. “Actually, invite _me_ next time, I feel like this is something I should’ve seen.” Then it wanders over to its cupboard, grabs a glass and a plate, and disappears back out of the kitchen. 

“You need a shower,” Virgil comments absently, scooping Logan’s clothes off of the floor “...and maybe a new shirt.” 

“I need a drink,” Logan comments, his voice only half it’s usual volume. 

“Come on, shower and some water,” Virgil’s hand catches his own, firm and commanding but not forceful. 

“Okay.” Logan agrees. 

\--

Logan _does_ like Virgil, not romantically but platonically he cares very greatly about Virgil, and he enjoys the sex too. It’s a little bit different from Remus, who can be dominating and submissive all in ten minutes, but prefers to be fucked. And their magic is different although it always seems to end with Logan losing control regardless. 

They’re kind of like friends with benefits, the benefits are not just sex but an entire experience of letting go of his control, both over his body and mind. 

Yet his encounters with both Virgil and Remus leave a little more curiosity for one last person. 

_Janus._

He’d heard stories of dragons as a child, he had grown up with a sense of wonder for them. And the man’s pretty scales seem to glow incandescently in every light that he passes. He’d heard different stories when he was older about the way they _fuck._ Although he has no idea if those stories are true. 

Janus is a soft-hearted person, he cares about his friends, but he’s also logical and calculated, he doesn’t overrule his head for his heart or his anger. Logan finds himself fantasising about it, those eyes with their vertical slitted pupils, his sharp teeth, what those scales would feel like under his fingertips. 

Janus certainly notices the little stares, and finds it amusing. 

“You can just ask, you know?” he finally calls Logan out, after a few weeks. Remus is sat on the couch staring fixated at the TV, but he looks up at the voice, a small smirk on his lips as he realises his boyfriend has been caught staring. “I don’t bite...unless you want me too.” Logan had cleared his throat awkwardly, two sets of very eager eyes on his rapidly heating face as he looked down at the ground. The dragon steps forward a little, and smiles, his fingertips coming up to tilt the human’s face so that their gazes meet. “You humans and your easily embarrassed standards, may I kiss you, little human?” 

Logan whimpers and leans up, their lips meet in the middle and Janus’ arms come around his waist, pulling their bodies flush together. “I have to warn you…” the taller mutters between the breathless kisses Logan is supplying him with “...I don’t think you’ll be able to take me…” he swallows the whimper this elicits from Logan before pulling away. 

“Don’t stop on _my_ account,” Remus grins, leaning over the back of the couch with a wild grin on its lips. Janus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, go have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“...That doesn’t narrow it down,” Logan replies, looking like all the air had been knocked out of his body; but he takes Janus’ hand as he’s led out of the kitchen. 

“Dragon biology doesn’t always work like a human’s.” Janus informs him in the privacy of the dragon’s room. “So, it’s perfectly okay if you don’t think you can handle it.” He pops the button of his own jeans, unzipping his pants. Logan can see the outline of his cock and it makes his heart jump in his chest as the other pushes his boxers out of the way. 

He whimpers again, much louder.

His cock is thick and ridged and huge. He can already feel its weight in his mouth in a way that makes him salivate, but... “I probably won’t fit that in me,” he admits, although he really, _really_ wants to try. “Not without some training at least.” He steps closer, looking up at the dragon’s bright eyes, there’s only understanding in them, not disappointment. But when Logan grins and sinks to his knees, the other almost feels his body give out, exhaling heavily as the human’s mouth wraps around his cock, his mouth almost full before he’d gotten halfway. But Logan moves his head, feeling the ridges against his lips and how it makes his cock twitch. 

Janus’ shirt hits the ground as his hand reaches for what his mouth can’t fit, stuffing his mouth and some of his throat with the thick weight. 

How has the other been keeping this hidden? Magic? Probably. He hears a cracking sound and finds himself looking up at Jan through his lashes as two large, green and leathery wings unfurl from the other’s back. 

Dragon, _of course_. 

“Come here,” Janus utters, his hand tugging at Logan’s hair to pull him away and to stand. Logan whines, enjoying the full feeling of his mouth and trying to imagine that fucking him open. Janus’ hands fumble with Logan’s clothes, helping him out of them until he’s naked and sat on the dragon’s desk, his back against the window with the other towering over him. He spreads his legs as their cocks are lined up and the ridges rub against his own hard length, them both coated with the thick slick leaking from Janus’ cock. The scaled man gathers some of the slick in his other hand, before reaching down to tease at Logan’s entrance with his fingers, easing into him slowly. 

“Aren’t you a pretty picture?” he mumbles, nipping at Logan’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Logan just manages to whimper, rocking his hips as best as he can from the position he’s in. He can feel his stomach muscles tensing, his upper back against the window as his hands try to support his own weight. Janus presses kisses along his jawline and neck firmly, their cocks pressing together and eliciting quiet moans against Logan’s skin.

And although it’s frantic, the two desperate to get off, it isn’t intense, it isn’t overwhelming, in fact out of the three of them this is the calmest interaction he’s had. He knows dragons have powerful magic, but Janus does not seem keen to use it on Logan, instead grinding their cocks together as Logan would with a human.

Perhaps Janus can sense that Logan may be a little exhausted, emotionally, physically, with all the magic his body has been taking in lately. 

He loses himself in the sensations until his body jerks with his orgasm, it’s not overwhelmingly intense, it doesn’t make him feel like he’s about to collapse, but it does hit with an exhilarating pleasure stimulated by the ridges in Janus’ large cock. His own feels so small next to the dragon's, and that’s a nice feeling, like everything about this man is large and protective, his wings spread out instinctively as the other spills over his own stomach and chest. 

For Janus it is instinctual. The more animalistic parts of his brain screamed that his partner is in a vulnerable moment, and although there’s no one here that could hurt him, it’s a protective urge he’s never been able to shake. 

As Logan comes down from his high and Janus withdraws from the other’s body, Logan looks up at him with this wide-eyed expression, he smiles a little, and spread his legs more, tilting his head back by way of invitation. “Mark me?” he asks, knowing it’ll drive the other crazy. It does with Virgil too, the smell of someone else on his skin as if his body can never be owned by himself, only passed between them in desperate urge for him to smell like them. Janus growls a little, wrapping his hand around his own cock and stroking harder and faster, his eyes not leaving the sight of Logan all spread out for him, willingly, waiting for him. 

He comes with force, cum splattering against Logan’s thighs and stomach, and cock and chest, some even lands over his face. The human takes a deep, shuddering breath in, the look on his face one of heated, intense lust. 

The dragon curses, gripping Logan’s thigh and dragging him closer as their lips press together firmly. “Fuck,” Janus growls, his hand knotting in the other’s hair. “You really know how to play us don’t you?” Logan grins into the kiss, before they pull away (barely, just an inch, that grip in his hair does not waver and he’s glad). 

“Just a little,” he replies, before their lips meet again. 

\--

Janus and himself end up with a very interesting relationship. Whilst Remus’ is romantic and sexual, and Virgil’s is platonic and sexual, Janus and Logan jump around the idea of a relationship for weeks. 

The backwards and forwards does the other two in, but they eventually admit that there’s no point putting it off. 

Remy cottons on at some point, and finds it hilarious that it’s like some sort of monster harem with their pet human. 

“I quite like that,” Logan replies, before turning back to do that task he was doing. 

_Their pet human_. Yeah, that really sounds right.


	10. Day 10: Roleplay: Logince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman has a surprise for Logan.

It had been a long day for Logan, he feels like he’d been on his feet since the moment he woke up and the stress of all his work had not quite helped how frustrated he felt. The adrenaline of being on edge for the entire day, task after task being thrown at him, has him feeling even worse, almost anxious. 

He slides his key into his apartment door and opens it up, walking in and switching on the light. “Roman?” He calls upstairs, locking the door behind him and throwing his keys onto the table. “Are you home?” He hears a slight creak of the floorboards as confirmation, perhaps the other had been dozing off; Roman’s work is _usually_ the more energy-consuming in the physical sense so it’s not really uncommon for him to be more tired. “Do you think we can perhaps order in tonight?” He shouts up, toeing off his shoes and tossing them into the cupboard, followed by his coat. “I’m craving a pizza.” 

“Yeah, sure!” he hears Roman call back, his voice sounds a little strange, perhaps nervous. Logan’s eyebrows furrow and he heads up the stairs. They have a bedroom each but mostly sleep in one of those rooms. The second room is for when they need some space from each other, and if nothing else, serves as a storage facility. 

He pushes open their bedroom door “Are you al-” he trails off, dropping his bag on the floor. “Oh.” Roman looks up at him shyly, biting his lip, his long hair trailing down his chest (usually he keeps it tied back, it gets in the way so easily, Logan rarely sees it down at all these days), but the main attraction is the short plaid skirt and white shirt it’s tucked into, a tie around his neck, knee-high socks with little dark red bows really completing the look. “You look...nice,” Logan whispers, his eyes wide behind his glasses and his cheeks flushed. 

“Thanks,” Roman laughs shortly, still looking extremely nervous. Acting is his entire thing, yet somehow this induces more panic than standing on a stage in front of millions of people a night. “I recall you saying high school was the best period of your life.”

“This isn’t quite what I meant but...I’m _not_ complaining,” he steps a little closer almost cautiously, his socks padding against the dark blue carpet until he’s stood at the end of the bed, feeling a little too hot under the collar. Roman slides up against the pillows and crosses his legs, looking up through his long lashes at Logan. 

“So...maybe I’m a very bad student, and _maybe_ I need punishing, sir.” The words come out so much softer than Roman’s usual voice; he’s always been incredibly masculine and his voice also very deep. Their entire relationship everyone always assumed Roman was the one in charge, and everyone is usually wrong. 

“Knowing how you were in high school, that is quite probable.” Logan offers a weak smile, trying not to show just how hard his heart is beating in his chest. Should they have had a conversation about this first? He feels like they should’ve. But also, he knows Roman even when he’s acting, and he knows how to tell if anything goes wrong. He takes a deep breath. “Very well, I think bad students really should be taught how to act better.” He moves onto the bed, his hand gripping Roman’s thigh and quite forcefully spreading his legs. 

“Yes sir, it’s what I deserve,” Roman gasps, accommodating Logan’s body on top of his own, shivering as the hand on him slides up the outside of his thigh. Logan’s fingertips slide underneath the panties and tug a little, snapping the elastic against Roman’s skin. “ _Shit_ , Lo...sir, _please_.”

“Already desperate? Did nobody ever teach you any patience?” Logan’s fingertips trace underneath the thin white material of Roman’s underwear, pressing against the skin there but refusing to brush against his cock. “No wonder you don’t succeed in class,” Roman gasps a little, his hips pushing up to seek Logan’s body but no contact comes. “Sit still, and don’t move,” the demand in his voice makes Roman obey, commanding his body like he himself has no control over it. He leans down to kiss the other forcefully, his hand tangling in his hair before using his grip to tug Roman’s head to the side, sucking and biting at the skin of his neck. “Now everyone will know just what a little slut you are.” he hums lightly, giving one last nip at his skin. Roman whines lightly, his cock hardening in his underwear, his skirt had slid down his thighs with the movement, and a little damp spot was forming at the front of the thin white material. 

“Please sir, I need you…” Logan growls a little at the words, leaning down to bite at his thighs, Roman’s cock twitches in the underwear and his hips buck again, whimpering at how little friction his cock is getting. “Please fuck me, I even prepared,” Logan slides the panties to the side, admiring the plug pressed into his ‘student’s’ ass. “Show me how to be good…”

Logan curses under his breath, kneeling up to slide the panties off of the other man’s legs and discard them to the side. He reaches over the other man’s body to grab some lube, his hand fumbling with his belt and zipper before he frees his half-hard cock from his underwear. Easing the plug out of Roman and lubing up his own cock as he looks down at the pretty picture of the other’s hair mussed and splayed out around him, his eyes dark and pleading; his cock hardening further between this image and his own hand. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, leaning up over Roman’s body and easing into him, the slide makes him groan audibly, one hand holding up his body weight whilst the other grips Roman’s thighs, pressing it further towards the other man’s chest as he presses deep into him. He captures the moans on the other man’s lips in a kiss, picking up the pace fairly quickly. All the stress and adrenaline left over from a long day at work pouring into his movement as he fucks into Roman. 

Roman’s hand wanders towards his own cock and Logan catches the movement. “Don’t even think about it, good boys wait until sir tells them they can touch themself.” The hand jerks away as if he’d been burned, but his cock twitches pathetically against his abdomen and a little whimper or plea makes it’s way from Roman’s lips. “Good boy,” Logan mutters, before claiming his lips in his own once more. 

He angles his hips a little better and then slams into Roman, listening to the whimpers of _“Sir”_ and _“thank you”_ and _“please_ ” every time each word is managed between the gasps for air and shuddering moans. Roman’s hands scramble through the bedsheets, grasping at the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. After a few minutes, Logan knows he’s trying to hold back his orgasm from the repetitive thrusts and the jerks of his body, but only smirks a little down at him. 

Roman crumbles after a few minutes, his whole body seizing up as unrestrained gasps fall from his lips, his cock twitching as cum shoots over his stomach and the skirt. He whimpers a little, looking up at the other in mock-fear. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, Logan arches an eyebrow and slams into him, watching the way his body shakes. “A-Ah I’m sorry, sir, I c-can be b-better,” his words are littered with gasps and whimpers, his cock softening but the arousal that he’s experiencing dripping with overstimulation. Little tears begin to prick his eyes as Logan doesn’t relent. 

“This is your punishment for coming without permission,” Logan informs him, chasing the high that he’s not too far from, his body feeling hot all over. “Next time maybe you’ll think a little harder before doing so.” 

Roman makes a noise that sounds like a heave for air or broken moan, tears starting to trickle down his face. 

The tension snaps and Logan’s body sinks against his own as his hips push forward, moaning out Roman’s name as he fills him. His hips move with the waves of his orgasm until he, too, is wincing from the overstimulation and eases out of the other. “Are you okay?” Logan asks hurriedly, his hand coming up to cradle Roman’s face, wiping away the tears gently and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

“Did I do okay?” The other man asks softly, his eyelids looking heavy. 

“Perfect, as always.” Roman gives a tired smile and nods.

“Then I’m fine.” He tilts his head up to steal a kiss from Logan’s lips. “Can we have a shower though? And order that pizza?” 

“Of course.” Logan helps him sit up and undress, his hand coming up to run soothingly through Roman’s long hair, massaging his fingers into his scalp with care. Roman smiles at the feeling, leaning his head briefly on his partner’s shoulder, before leaning up. 

“Shower,” he mutters.

“Shower,” Logan agrees.


	11. Day 11: Praise Kink: Sleeplogical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan doesn't remember the last time he was told he was good

Ever since Logan was created he’d been bad with his emotions. Well, that is a mostly unfair statement; as a child he’d laughed and cried a lot, as a teenager he’d struggled with articulating himself would tend to just throw full fits of anger or melancholia in his frustrations to verbalise his feelings. As an adult...the idea of showing emotion started to drain away from him. 

The other sides were different, they’d talk about their feelings, they’d hold each other’s hands, they’d cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. After Logan hit twenty the idea of physical or emotional connection just...fell away from him. 

The isolation got infinitely worse after the other three got into a relationship, followed shortly by then-Deceit-now-Janus and Remus’ relationship evolving to something more...romantic does not seem the right word, but more _something_.

One night, he went for a walk. He walked out of their flat and down through the little world Roman had created for them. He walked for hours and hours and hours, until his entire body felt so heavy that he collapsed by the side of a road that cars never come down. He sat there, staring at the sky with this hollow and empty feeling. _‘Is this all there is?’_ he’d thought. _‘There’s a whole world out there that I can only see through someone else's eyes, whole experiences I can never really have, so much to learn that I never will.’_

It’d been the closest to crying he’d felt in many years. 

That’s how he met him. He’d come walking down the road in a battered pair of boots and skinny jeans, sipping a cup of coffee that didn’t seem to drain with each sip. “Oh,” He’d said, staring through sunglasses in the middle of the night. “Darling, sitting in the middle of the road will do nothing for your existential dread.” 

“Who are you?” he’d ask, his head feeling heavy. 

“Remy, Sleep, and _you_ are tired.” He felt very tired, and that’s when he blacked out. 

When he’d awoken he was lying in a bed that wasn’t his own, in a place he didn’t recognise. When he sat up, his head was aching and he heard a soft tutting noise. “Lie back down, take these, you hit your head on the way down.” He shoves paracetamol into his hand with a bottle of water. “I’m not exactly used to visitors, but I’m not going to apologise for the mess.” Logan squints a little, his vision blurry, at first he’d thought maybe hitting his head had affected him, but then he realised he just didn’t have his glasses on. They’re slid onto his nose carefully, and he stared up at the man sat by the bed. 

“I’m Logan, Logic.”

“I know,” Remy replies simply, humming as he slides his sunglasses up onto his head. “I know all of you,” he hums and slides off to wander away from the bed, the room really is a mess, Logan sits up slowly, leaning back on his hands for a moment as his eyebrows furrowed. 

“How do you know us, but we do not know you?”

“Because that’s the way I generally like it.” He hums a little, picking up the cup of tea that had been resting on the drawer set, and bringing it over to Logan, who sits up properly to accept it. “I don’t get bothered by your glorified group therapy and you get to live your entire lives...well, not bothering me! Especially the hyper one.”

“Roman?”

“Oh, him too, I keep forgetting they’re two different people now, it’s been years since I’ve seen any of you.” 

“You’ve met us?”

“Sure, when we were kids we all lived in the same space,” Logan thinks hard, but the more he tries to picture their childhood, the more the migraine aches. “Don’t do that,” Remy tuts again, an exaggerated sigh on his lips. “You’ve forgotten for a reason.” 

“Why?”

“I didn’t want people bothering me, and you were all too much to handle, besides it ruins the concept of true neutral if you have influence.”

“Logic is always neutral.” Remy sighs and shakes his head, sitting down at the end of the bed. “You don’t consider logic to be neutral?”

“As a concept logic is neutral, but _you_ are not neutral, Thomas requires you for almost all of his decision making processes, and that requires you to be influenced by the other sides.” Logan nods slowly, yes that does make sense. He doesn’t like it, but it does make sense. “But fiddling with your memories is a little out of the question at your age, so I would appreciate it if we just kept this between us.” 

“I agree, but how does that work...altering memories doesn’t seem like a facet of sleep powers?”

“It isn’t,” Remy hummed “I don’t delete the memories, I just complicate the way dreams are stored versus waking memories, and scramble them, so your brain considers the memory to be unimportant information, and it’s like you only ever dreamed of me, inevitably over time this removes the memory completely.” 

“I don’t like that,” Logan said bluntly. “But I’m far too tired to be angry either.” 

“If I were you I’d be a little more angry at the people who made me do it, but then again I had to do it to them too.” He shrugs. “Have a nap, you need to teach.” 

And Logan slept, and he had some wonderful dreams that night. When he woke up, Remy walked him back to the road and said goodbye. 

That probably should’ve been the end of it. 

But he felt so suffocated by the others that he found himself in Remy’s company at least once a week, then a few times a week, and soon he was spending more time with Remy than anyone else. 

One day, Remy asks the question that had been on his mind ever since he’d met Logan. “Why were you out there that night? You were far too exhausted to be wandering around at midnight and reckless is not really your branding.” 

“There’s just a lot of the world to see and I can never really...see it. Thomas can see it and I can have the information...but I can never touch the glass of an aquarium or see the height of a dinosaur in a museum, I can never experience the things he can, and I barely seem able to experience things that the other sides do.”

“Like what?” Remy asks curiously. 

“Like...they’re always touching each other, holding hands, they talk to each other and since that started I am in a state of limbo, not wanting to impose on their lives, but not entirely finding being alone to be a positive experience either.” 

“If their relationship has made them distant from you then sweetheart, they weren’t very good friends to start with.” 

Logan sighs in exhaustion and shakes his head. He doesn’t even know if they were ever really friends. Remy’s lips tighten in a frown as though he can read his mind, before he sighs begrudgingly. “I’m sorry Logan,” he mutters “I’m sorry that they’re so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t really notice you, but they’re not the only people you have.” ‘ _You have **me**.’_   
“I have you.” Logan mutters. Remy thinks his heart stammers in his chest. “And I’m glad I have you, I’d be so lonely if I didn’t.” They both share a small smile. “I just wish sometimes the people I actually work with could appreciate me just for once, I work so... _fucking_ hard, and...they just act like nothing I say actually holds any meaning or bearing on them, and then I have to act like it doesn’t bother me, like it doesn’t hurt, because the slightest hint of emotion and they won’t take me seriously.”

“I take you seriously, I take you more seriously when you’re not acting as though you don’t feel a thing.” 

“But that’s because we don’t work together, Remy,” the way he says his name sounds desperate to be understood, like he’s pleading for some semblance of relief, for someone to tell him that they notice his hard work. “I don’t have to be unemotional around you, because you don’t know me as Logic, you know me as _Logan._ ” 

Remy exhales heavily and leans back on his chair, shaking his head. “I think the others ostracise you because you refuse to be entirely yourself, and they can tell; Janus _definitely_ can tell.” Logan blinks slowly at the other. “When you’re lying to someone so often, even if consciously they don’t realise it, they view you as untrustworthy and distance themselves from you; which isn’t to say that’s entirely the problem, they’re not even fucking _trying_ and not exactly giving you the space or room to be the person you’re supposed to be.” 

“But logic is supposed to be unemotional.”

“Logic can’t exist without emotion, Logan, logic can’t exist without morals, without philosophy or science, the theory of logic wouldn’t even exist if someone didn’t care enough to fuckin’ write about it, the two fit together and overall, you are a part of Thomas, and fuck knows that man rules with his heart, which stands to reason that his head and his heart influence each other, ergo you cannot exist unemotionally.” Logan goes very quiet and looks down at the floor with a tired sigh. “If they can’t accept that as _you_ , then just leave, come live here with me until they sort their shit out.”

“Do you think I’m good at my job?” Remy nods without hesitation. 

“I think you’re very good at your job, sweetheart, I haven’t ever seen anyone work nearly as hard as you do.” He watches Logan’s cheeks flush and wonders when the last time anyone had told the poor bastard that he’s good, that he’s _brilliant._ “I think they’re just very self-absorbed and won’t let you know how good you do, because you do amazing, without you Thomas would barely know how to function in his day to day life.” The logical side exhales shakily, looking down at his hands and hiding behind his hair. It takes Remy a moment to realise he’s shaking, and even longer to know that he’s _crying._

Remy thinks he might actually _**kill**_ them, if he gets his hands on them, Thomas included. 

He places down his coffee and crosses the room to kneel in front of Logan, tilting his head up with far more delicacy than he has ever shown anyone. He thinks maybe Logan has made him a little soft. “Hey, it’s okay, Logan, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Logan hiccups lightly, wiping his eyes, shaking his head. “I just wish I could hear that more often.”  
“I’ll tell you as many times as you like darling, you’re wonderful, amazing, that big brain of yours blows my _mind,_ half the time I haven’t a clue what you’re fucking saying and it still amazes me, because you do your job _super_ damn well, and you do it with so much ease _and_ it’s a job I couldn’t even begin to attempt doing,” Logan inhales shakily, a hot shiver running over him as he digests these words. “You’re super _cool_ Logan and…” it was that which did it, it flooded him with a burning warmth that he cannot shake, and he leaned down and kissed Remy silent. The sleep facet shivers under the heat of the kiss, his hands gripping Logan’s thighs to keep himself from crumbling under the weight. 

His lips move without even thinking about it, feeling the other’s tongue brush against his own, his chest flooding with the rapid pumping of his heart, he swears he can taste his own heartbeat for a moment. Then they pull away, Remy looks like his whole world just shifted around him. “I’m sorry,” Logan whispers “I don’t...I didn’t...I wasn’t…” Remy’s hand wraps around his tie and yanks him back into another kiss, their teeth click for a second and he winces, but he also cannot say he entirely cares. 

“Wait,” Remy utters, breathless and flushed. “Do you actually like me or...is this just one of those there’s no-one else around and I’m showing you some kindness situations?”

“Why would I kiss you if I don’t _like_ you?” Logan replies, looking genuinely confused. 

“Oh, sweetheart, never mind.” He grabs Logan’s hand as he stands. “Come on, I can’t believe _I’m_ saying this but I can’t spend another hour on my knees.” The logical facet’s cheeks heat a little at the insinuation, whilst his mind runs wild at the thought of Remy on his knees for a completely different reason.

And then he can’t really _stop_ thinking about it. 

What would that be like? What does that feel like? It’s not like he’s ever had the opportunity to find out, but Remy is leading him to his bedroom so he thinks maybe he might be about too. Or maybe not, they were just kissing, so maybe it’s simply more kissing? And a nap. “Are we going to have sex?” he blurts out finally and then winces at how that falls from his lips, Remy catches the mildly terrified look on his face and chuckles. 

“ _Only_ if you want to, teach.” 

“I think so? I understand the methods but not the...practice.” 

“That has got to be the most clinical way of telling me you’re a virgin, sweetheart,” he snorts lightly, tugging him a little closer to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “We can try, but you can stop at any time if it’s too much.” Logan nods in agreement, and leans to chase his lips again, Remy chuckles softly into the kiss, pulling the other man flush against his body as an arm wraps around his waist. 

They both end up on the bed, Logan lying underneath Remy’s body and feeling the weight of him is the most contact he’s ever had in his life. It feels more...vulnerable than he’d expected, looking up at the other man with an understanding that all the control he’d had over his body for his entire life is about to slip through his fingers and be placed, literally, into someone else's hands. But that should scare him so much more than it does, too busy shivering as a hand trails underneath his shirt and fingertips press to the skin; skin that had never been touched by another person. He gasps and arches into the touch, a touch that is almost burning. 

He pushes Remy’s jacket off his shoulders and it gets discarded to the floor, followed closely by Logan’s tie. It’s a simple rhythm of pulling clothes off each other’s body, touching more, feeling more; he feels like all his nerves are fighting for more sensation, more feeling, more of everything he’s never had. 

He can’t even remember the last time someone hugged him. 

“You’re so good Lo,” Remy mutters in his ear, nipping at the skin of his jaw, then neck, then collarbones, and then he sucks the skin between his teeth and Logan feels heat run through him like nothing he’s ever even dreamed of. His hips jolt at the sensation, a moan rolling off his tongue that is breathless and needy. “You make such pretty noises for me sweetheart,” His mouth trails down Logan’s body, paying attention to as much as he can with his hands and mouth. 

Logan does not want a single part of his body to be untouched by the end of this. 

His jeans and underwear end up on the floor next, but Remy doesn’t touch his cock yet. He’s fairly determined to make Logan very aware of just how much of his body can feel. He leans up and runs his hands down his legs, bowing his head to suck and nip at his thighs. The logical side feels his whole body jolt, his cock twitching and leaking precum against his stomach as Remy’s tongue traces the bruise he’d made into his partner’s thigh. Then he does the same to the other thigh. Each jolt of arousal has Logan thinking that he might be finishing before he wants too.

Then Remy grips his thighs and pushes them up to Logan’s chest, leaning down to press his tongue against the tight ring of muscle that is Logan’s entrance. 

“Rem...Remy... _please._ ” He doesn’t really know what he’s begging for, but Remy seems to know as he release Logan’s legs and crawls a little further up, his hands resting to the side of Logan’s hips as he leans down and sucks lightly at the head of his cock. The other man’s eyes roll and his hips jerk, but Remy doesn’t complain, doesn’t chastise him, simply relaxes his jaw and lets the other push his cock into his mouth with shaky, uncoordinated movements. Then, he pulls away and clicks his fingers, a bottle of lube landing next to him. 

“You’re such a pretty little picture,” he hums, leaning down to kiss him gently, undoing his own jeans with one hand as he does so. “The other’s are such fucking idiots if they can’t see how wonderful you are.” Logan shivers at the sincerity of the words as Remy moves back to rid himself of the remainder of his clothes, leaning over Logan to grab the lube. He summons an extra pillow, not wanting to disturb how comfortable Logan looks currently. “Lift your hips for me babe.” He does as he’s told and Remy slides the pillow underneath him. “It might feel a little strange at first, and if you want to stop you can tell me, okay sweetheart?” He leans down to kiss him, pouring lube on his fingers before his other hand rests on the back of Logan’s thighs, guiding his knees up to his chest with care, his hand moving down to his entrance. 

Logan inhales sharply as the first finger slides into him, carefully moving in and out of him, he takes a deep breath as he adjusts, focusing in on the sensation. It does feel strange, but not uncomfortable which he had mildly expected it to be.

The process also doesn’t take as long as he’d expected, once he relaxed a little, he seemed to stretch for Remy quite easily, sinking into the rhythmic sensation. His cock softens a little though, the stimulation not quite enough at first, until Remy leans down and takes him in his mouth. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever begged for anything before, but he pleads with Remy to fuck him like there’s nothing in life he could ever want more. 

When the other man finally eases into him, the stretch is a little more intense, but it doesn’t burn or ache, again it just feels a little _strange_. And then the crashing realisation that a part of someone else is now inside of him, part of him, brings up a wave of not just arousal, but a very intense emotional crash that has him scrabbling to have Remy closer, to have more of him, to have _all_ of him. 

“Patience darling, it’s your first time,” Remy chuckles, leaning down to capture the other man’s lips on his own. He kisses him as he had before, hard, warm, feeling every drag of their lips and tongue, tasting as much as he can. Then he pulls away to draw his hips back, holding his weight over Logan’s, and then pushes back in with a fluid, quick motion; he repeats this, watching Logan’s face as he shifts the angle a little. 

It takes a little while to find the exact right spot, but when he does, Logan’s eyes shoot wide open, a whimper on his lips that sounds like it started off as a choked off moan. His brain grinds to halt and his nails dig into Remy’s back. Remy repeats the movement, over and over again and although he doesn’t get it right every time, Logan holds onto him with frantic frustration, his cock twitching between their bodies. “You make the prettiest noises darling, you’re doing so well for me, so good, _my_ good boy.” 

When he looks back at this moment, Logan could sincerely say that those words were the exact moment he lost his mind. Something about the praise runs straight to his cock and his hips jerk with a need to be touched. Remy’s hand moves between their bodies, wrapping around the other man’s cock and jerking him with each thrust, feeling the way he gasps right down to his stomach. Logan’s whole body shakes and Remy takes it as an invitation to keep talking. “Look at you, taking me so well, so willing for me, aren’t you sweetheart? So good at pleasing me, you feel amazing, perfect.” He kisses Logan and swallows the moans that are shaking the other man’s entire body from the sheer intensity of how much he’s feeling physically and emotionally. There’s no need to hide or deny himself right now, and he knows it. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect Logan, my perfect boy.” Logan cums with a force that makes his whole body shudder. He’s fairly certain the edges of his brain melted somewhere between the first sentence and the last. Remy milks him through his orgasm, his thrusts slowing before he goes to ease out. Logan makes a very high, very soft noise, his arms and legs gripping Remy like he’s afraid he’ll leave. “If I don’t get out of you, darling, you’ll get over sensitised and that’s probably not a good idea for your first time.” Logan eases his grip and Remy pulls out. 

“What...what about you?” His voice does not sound like his own, it’s so quiet and absent. 

“I can take care of myself,” Remy hummed. “But first I want to make sure you’re okay.” Logan sits up slowly, blinking and taking a deep breath. 

“I want...I want to help you.” Remy raises his eyebrows a little, before nodding. The logical side knocks the pillow onto the floor and moves to push Remy down onto the bed, kissing him desperately (he wants to taste him, he wants to taste so much of him, he wants to make Remy feel the way he feels). His body is still shaking a little and it’s definitely still sensitive, but he makes his way down the other’s body and sucks lightly at the head of Remy’s cock. Then, experimentally, he takes him down his throat, bobbing his head. The sleep facet’s hand comes up to run through his hair, gently guiding him as he relaxes into the bed. 

“You’re a natural,” he exhales shakily, “hardly surprising when you’re so good at everything.” Logan’s sensitive cock twitches weakly at the praise, his hips shifting just a little but the sensation makes him squirm. He doubles his efforts, wanting to please Remy, wanting to hear more of that delicious praise. 

The closer Remy gets, the more breathless his words become, littered with moans and gasps between “You’re so good for me, you’re so perfect, you’re doing so well.” When his hips jolt a little, Logan does not move away, even as Remy warns him, feeling cum hit the back of his throat as the other man moans his name. 

He’s never heard his name spoken like that before. He likes it a lot. 

He sucks at the head gently until he’s told he can move away, pulling away to swallow. He kneels up, sitting back on his feet. “Did I do okay?” he asks. 

“Perfect darling,” Remy replies, breathless. “Do you want something to wash your mouth out? Water? Tea? Coffee?” Logan shakes his head. 

“No, I just want you,” he mutters, looking down at his sweat and cum slicked skin. He’d gotten some on the bedsheets to. He doesn’t really care, Remy thinks he’s good, and he made him feel good, that’s all that matters right now. Logan crawls back up the other’s body, the desire to be simply held too strong. Remy presses a kiss to his forehead and wraps his arms around the other. 

Logan feels good, as good as he’s ever felt.


	12. Day 12: Accidental/unplanned: Remy/Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman had always noticed his flatmate was hot, sure, but he didn't plan this.

Roman doesn’t quite know how he got in this position. He is aware of the fact that maybe being in an enclosed space for a few months with only one other person who is not unattractive, would probably do strange things to his hormones. And apparently, to his roommate, Remy’s, too. 

He is also acutely aware of the fact that maybe he’d stared a little too long when the other man had come out of the shower, shirtless, wandering around in jeans with droplets of water still falling to his chest, shoulders and the floor from his wet, curling hair. And maybe there were _other_ occasions too. 

But that was a moment that set off something a little primal in Roman. A hot flush of heat that had all his thoughts stilling as he watched Remy wander around the kitchen, skin shining from the water in the middle of a summer heatwave. When the other man had caught his eyes, noticing the stare, he didn’t react for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he read the expression on Roman’s face like he was a damn _book_ , then he smirked, as though he’d just reached a pretty good chapter. 

“You alright there Ro?” He asked, his eyebrow quirked and a challenge written on his face.

“I’m fine,” Roman forced out, voice a few pitches higher than usual. 

“Mind if I get into that cupboard?” And then he’s very close to him, leaning up on his tiptoes and their bodies are barely centimeters away from each other as he opens the cupboard door. Roman leans against the corner of the kitchen counter where his body is boxed in by Remy, his legs feeling suddenly rather shaky, and his hands somewhat trustworthy as he grips the corner with some sense of grasping for sanity. 

The other man looks down at him, resting the tin down on the counter and closing the door slowly, the little smirk is on his lips. Roman knows his face is red, it feels like he’s on fire, and his tongue darts out over his lips to moisten them. Remy’s gaze follows the movement, before his eyes are meeting his own again. 

He’s right there. His face is so close. Roman wants to kiss him, he can’t just kiss his roommate. He doesn’t know the rules here but kissing your roommate seems like it would break at least one of them. “You look a little tense,” the taller man comments, as though Roman doesn’t know every muscle in his body is currently shaking with the effort to stay both standing and unattached from the man that’s far too close to him. “I know a few types of stress relief that could help with that.”

He snaps then, the sultry tone in Remy’s voice coupled with the way his lips hang parted and eyebrows raised, he pushes his hands off the counter and pulls Remy into a kiss. Remy’s hands grip his hips and pull the lower half of their bodies together, stumbling forward so that Roman is pressed against the counter. His hands catch the other man’s shirt and pulls it up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough for it to be discarded on the kitchen floor. 

This has to be unsanitary, Roman thinks, just before he’s being lifted up and placed on top of the counter himself. “You will be the best thing I’ve eaten all year,” Remy mutters, catching the lobe of Roman’s ear between his teeth and then sucking, his breath hot against his skin, before he makes busy work of the brunet’s neck and collarbones. The smaller man leans back on his hands, watching as his roommate sinks down his body, littering his skin with bruises and bitemarks. 

His cock is already half-hard before Remy’s hands land on his thighs and squeeze, and Roman tries not to let his hips buck against the air but it’s been months since _anyone_ remotely touched his body. 

He watches his belt being undone, lifts his hips for his pants and underwear to be tugged off, and tries not to let his cheeks blush as he sits naked on the kitchen counter, and Remy’s head dips between his thighs, taking his cock into his mouth without a seconds thought for things like teasing or pausing for a breath. Roman moans loudly, his nails scratching against the surface of the counter whilst trying to keep his upper body supported as his hips jolt into the heat around his cock. 

“Fuck, _Rem,_ ” Roman whimpers, trying not to tremble, trying to hold on a little longer, but after so long without anyone so much as holding his hand, he knows that he hasn’t much holding on to do. 

His hips jerk as the tension builds, gasping out the other’s name with something of a warning before Roman manages a shuddering moan, cumming down Remy’s throat. The taller man bobs his head a little more slowly, milking him through it, before he finally pulls off with a satisfying noise. That cheeky grin returns and Roman puffs his cheeks with a sigh, trying to ground himself back away from the exhaustion of his orgasm. “You eat a lot of fruit,” Remy comments absently. 

“It’s good for your immune system or whatever,” Roman replies, shifting himself off of the counter to at least grab some underwear. He then leans up to kiss Remy, heatedly, his hands running over the other’s chest and stomach, his nails digging in a little. “Your turn.” 

Remy gets pressed between Roman’s body and the counter, his hands gripping the edge as he watches the other sink to his knees and unbutton his jeans, tugging them down his thighs with his underwear, then take him into his mouth. “Fuck…” He leans his head back, eyes closing as he lets Roman do all the work, bobbing his head until his cock is hard, then wrapping a hand around the base, moving in time with his mouth. 

Remy had as much a habit of sex as Roman did, and the isolation from parties and one night stands had certainly taken its toll on him both physically and emotionally. They’re both extroverts, and they’re both fond of regular sexual contact. And honestly why haven't they thought about doing _this_ sooner? The awkwardness of sleeping with your roommate? He doesn’t really care as he brings a hand to run through Roman’s hair, tugging just a little to be rewarded with a light moan that’s muffled by the cock acting as a gag. 

Remy looks down at the man on his knees for him, watching Roman’s lips stretch around his cock and resists the urge to fuck his mouth, instead focusing on the sensation that’s dragging him closer and closer. Much like the other man, the lack of contact for months has rewarded him with the fact his whole body feels like it’s on fire, and suddenly the usual frustrations of taking too long to cum are disappearing. 

“Fuck, Ro...I…shit,” He groans a little as his hips jerk suddenly, the sudden and intense release surprising even him as Roman doubles his efforts until he’s jerking from the stimulation. 

Roman swallows the cum, leaning back just to suck playfully at the sensitive head of Remy’s cock before he sits on his heels and looks up at the other. He really does look pretty on his knees. 

Now they don’t really know what to say, so Remy tucks himself back into his underwear and takes a deep breath. “We should do that again sometime,” he tries not to act like he’s nervous for the response, his voice dripping with over-saturated confidence. Roman grins up at him. 

“Sure.”

Remy grins back.


	13. Day 13: Tentacles: Intruxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever accidentally date an eldritch terror?

Virgil has a habit of making strange acquaintances in his life; there’s simply something about him that attracts that sort of oddity. Maybe it’s the eyeliner, he thinks with amusement, or the purple hair...there’s got to be something about him that allows him to be consistently in strange company. 

He met Remus on a whim, a friend of a friend. He’d known then that he was odd but not to this extent. It isn’t until they started getting closer and then, inevitably entering a relationship with each other that he finds out that his partner is not entirely human. At first, he’d thought he was joking, though he’s aware there are people who look human who are not he’d never thought he’d encounter one, let alone be dating one. 

He wasn’t joking. He gave a sort of sheepish smile through teeth that now that Virgil thinks about it, do look a little too sharp. “I know I should’ve told you sooner but…” Virgil shakes his head. 

“No, I get it.” He does, he’s not some eldritch being but he is distinctively aware of the fear of rejection in his day to day life. He thinks a secret this big is something worth keeping when you’re afraid. So no, he is not mad at Remus, not upset with him, mostly he’s just a little shocked. But he’s still Remus, still the wildfire he fell in love with, it’s just now he’s...not human. “So...do you have like any extra arms and legs or something?” He asks, joking rather weakly. 

Remus laughs a little and shrugs. “Sort of,” he starts “I...uh...I have tentacles?” Virgil has seen enough of the internet to know he’s in a very lucky position right now. It’s not the first thing his mind goes to because again the initial shock of someone you love being a little different than you thought resides inside of him. But after a few minutes, he finds a light flush crawling up his neck. 

“Do you want to see?” His partner asks, catching the slight blush. Virgil nods mutely in response, sitting down on the edge of the bed and tucking a strand of his long purple hair behind his ears. Remus tugs off his shirt and drops it on the floor, relaxing on the spot where he stood. Virgil has always liked his partner’s body, he’s not skinny or thin or muscled, he’s just...perfect to Virgil in every way. But he finds viewing it now to be something else as he watches the tentacles crawl from his back. They move of their own accord, and Virgil doesn’t know if Remus can control them individually or anything; his hand comes up to touch one, inhaling deeply as it coils around his wrist in retaliation. 

“Do you feel it?” he asks quietly, looking up at the dark-haired man with curiosity. 

“Yeah, it’s kind of like when someone touches your side, a little ticklish but not overbearingly so.” Virgil nods silently, lightly squeezing one in his hand. Remus shivers, getting a small grin from his lover, who tilts his head up towards him more demandingly, a movement usually rewarded with a kiss. 

“Can you use them on me?” He asks finally, between the kisses. 

“If you want me too.”

“Oh gods, yes.” Virgil pulls Remus closer, moving up on the bed for the other to climb on top of him. He whimpers into the kiss this time, barely even realising just how hot he’d felt just from looking at them. He’d never really considered himself to have a tentacle kink, he’s not even sure if he does or if it’s just an “everything strange and wonderful about Remus” kink. He knows he can never be turned off by anything this man does, or is, after all. 

Remus helps him out of his clothes but does not undress himself any further than he already had, instead kneeling back a little as the tentacles move over Virgil’s body, wrapping around his wrists and ankles, pressing to his stomach and abdomen and running along his sides. A sucker makes its use of Virgil’s nipple. 

Call him a voyeur, but there’s something quite exhilarating about watching Virgil as his tentacles pleasure his body. 

One wraps itself around Virgil’s cock, whilst another slowly pushes into his entrance, stretching him open with slow and languid thrusts. He watches the other man whimper beneath him, his body trembling with the amount of stimulation he’s getting. 

Remus just watches, and Virgil doesn’t seem to mind, too busy gasping and jolting as the tentacle presses to his prostate, massaging the little bundle of nerves in a way that has his head spinning. The taller man grins, unfastening his own pants and freeing his cock, stroking himself as he takes in Virgil’s flushed expression, following the crease of his eyebrows and open-mouthed gasps for air. His entire body seemed to heave with the touches, grinding his hips into the touch to his cock, and whimpering from the tentacle buried deep inside him. “You look so pretty like this,” Remus mutters, his hand moving faster on his cock. “Do you think you can cum like this darling, is it enough?” 

“Y-yes,” Virgil’s voice breaks with a gasp, his hair knotting underneath him on the white sheets. The tentacle inside him pulls out and he whines in frustration, eye wide as he looks up at Remus. The other man laughs softly at his desperation before a bigger, thicker tentacle pushes into Virgil slowly. The stretch alone burns so pleasurably that the shorter man moans out, rocking his hips into the touch. The tentacle around his cock stops it’s teasing and applies more pleasure, sliding in quick, short movements. 

The sensation of so many different things surrounding his sense of touch is driving Virgil crazy, torn between overstimulation and _moremoremore._ Remus follows every gasp that is torn from his lover’s lips with a sharp look on his face. When Virgil starts to get closer, he bites his lips, watching him hanging on an edge where he desperately fucks himself back onto the tentacle buried inside him, before with a loud, gasping moan his cock twitches and he cums over his stomach. The tentacles milk him through his orgasm, before slowly retreating. Remus doesn’t still his own movements, leaning over Virgil and leaning down to kiss him as he continues touching himself, speeding up a little before cumming over Virgil’s chest with a growling moan that sounds almost possessive. 

“Now you’re really all mine.” He mutters, nipping very gently at Virgil’s bottom lip. 

“I was always yours,” Virgil replies weakly, stealing a kiss from his lips.


	14. Day 14: Hate-Fucking: Intruxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil really hates his best friend's brother.

It’s just his luck really, that he gets stuck inside with the one person he could stand to punch for an unknowable amount of time. He should’ve gone with Roman, he’s only walking halfway across the city and back and Virgil is almost certain that’s a walk he could do in his sleep. Although he suspects that his best friend may have taken a slight detour for some momentary peace and quiet. 

So he’s just stuck in this flat with the most annoying person known to man... _alone_. It’s not that Remus is the worst person alive, he doesn’t steal or lie or murder, but he’s loud and irritating and has too much energy for someone who consistently looks to be on death’s doorstep. Like Virgil, he’s too pale, almost sickly so, probably due to the lack of nutrients and vitamins that an average human being requires. He’s a head taller than Virgil, which is quite the feat given that the purple-haired man stands at 5ft8, making Remus _impossibly_ tall. The sort of person that frequently has to duck to avoid hitting their head on objects hanging from the ceiling, or door frames. 

And maybe his freakish height is an excuse because Virgil categorically _hates_ Remus. Every time he opens his goddamn mouth he wants to shut it up for him. 

Especially right now, because it’s just the two of them, and the dark-haired man with all the energy in the world will not stop talking. And talking. And _**talking**_. Virgil glares at him stubbornly through his lined eyes, scrutinising the other into silence but he won’t take a hint. “Can you shut up?” He asks, in a way that suggests it is not a real question. 

“I can!” Remus responds like it was. Then proceeds to continue talking. Virgil groans and rolls his eyes, tilting his head back against the couch and shutting his eyes in hopes that somehow blocking out his sense of sight will quieten the sound of Remus’ voice. “Oh come on gloomy tunes, I’m not that bad.” _‘No, no you **are,** ’_ Virgil thinks to himself, even his internal voice huffs with exasperation. Before Remus can open his mouth again, Virgil lifts his hand and presses it firmly over his mouth, like they were children and not approaching their thirties. 

Remus’ tongue almost instinctively protrudes from his lips and licks Virgil’s hand; his entire face screws up in disgust, frantically wiping his hand off on his jeans. “You’re so fucking gross,” Remus only grins in response like he’s been handed a compliment on par with ‘beautiful’ or ‘wonderful.’ Virgil tries to not let it get to him because he knows that the other man is just trying to annoy him and rile him up so that they argue; Remus loves arguing, it’s his favourite pastime. In that sense, both he and Roman are very alike. The difference is Roman can tell when someone is actually angry. 

And thus knows when to stop. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he cuts in before the taller man can try talking again, pointing at him in what he hopes is an intimidating matter. As intimidating as he can be anyway; Virgil isn’t very intimidating to Remus at all, he’s shorter than him and always looks like a stray alley cat found wandering the streets and starving. Remus pouts in response, leaning the side of his head against the leather couch before sighing. “Can’t you just go to your room and leave me alone?”

“I don’t _want_ to do that,” Remus replies, a look on his face that is definitely feigned hurt, but a very unconvincing version of it. “Come on V, be a little more entertaining,” Virgil definitely makes a noise that sounds like a growl in response, his eyes narrowing, but to Remus, that’s practically flirting. “What if…” Virgil stands up incredibly fast, his entire body tense with frustration and annoyance. “Wait!” Remus darts up off the couch and grasps his forearm, his long and thin fingers gripping him. 

Virgil practically shoves him away, almost losing balance himself from the rapid movement, but his plan backfires as he ends up stumbling towards Remus. Remus who is very used to tripping over his own feet and rights himself much quicker, instead steadying the other man in his arms. “You really need a better handle on your limbs,” the taller man mutters, a snort of breathless laughter on his tongue. 

_“Fuck **you** ,” _Virgil mutters, looking up at him and not moving away. Remus’ hands are resting on his waist over his hoodie and his shirt but for some reason, he can feel the other man’s touch as though it’s burning him.

“Would you like too?” Remus replies, only half-joking. 

Virgil hates Remus, he thinks he’s loud and obnoxious and doesn’t know when to quit. He thinks he talks too much and too fast and is a walking sensory overload. And he thinks...he thinks he’s going to kiss him. So he does. Not out of love or care or even for that burning touch but because he wants him to shut up. He wants him to _stop fucking **talking**_. 

He kisses him firmly, biting his lip between his own teeth and tugging. Remus moans breathlessly from the sensation of teeth piercing his lip and before he knows it, they’re both back on the couch, Virgil in the other man’s lap with their tongues brushing against each others. He feels the scratch of Remus’ beard and moustache against his skin, and Remus’ hands pushing his jacket off his shoulders, then dipping under his shirt just to touch his skin. 

Virgil moves off the other man’s lap, his hand gripping Remus’ shirt as he lies back on the couch and pulls him on top of himself. He’d never really considered Remus much, but his body is warm against his own. “Suck me off.” He’s not asking, and it doesn’t seem a question is what is wanted of him anyway. The dark-haired man kneels up to unfasten Virgil’s belt, tugging his jeans and underwear down his hips and then immediately settling between his thighs. He takes Virgil’s cock down his throat and winces when a hand wraps through the dark, thick strands of hair on his head. 

But if Virgil knows Remus, this sort of pain will be just what he wants. 

He’s still angry though, he’s angry that he never shuts up, he’s angry that he’s always pushing his buttons. He vocalises this as he fucks Remus’ throat, listening to him choke and gag, tears springing in his eyes as his body tenses from the light assault. He doesn’t complain though, not even when Virgil says he’s happy he’s found a way to shut Remus’ mouth. By the way he rocks his hips against the couch, Virgil can attest he’s even enjoying it. 

So he doesn’t feel sorry for his anger as he takes it out on Remus, chasing his own pleasure as the taller man allows his throat to be used. 

He hears Remus moan around his cock a few times, and when Virgil finally feels his orgasm build, he presses his hips into the other’s throat, watches him struggle to breathe as he comes with a growling moan of relief. Then, he finally lets go of Remus’ hair, his hands moving away to rest by his sides. Remus kneels up, looking pale and disorientated, and Virgil can see his cock is hard and straining against his jeans. He doesn’t offer to help, he just pulls his own underwear and jeans back up, fastening his belt buckle. Exhaling shakily, he runs a stressed hand through his hair and stands up off the couch, shaking his head. “Tell Roman I had some shit to sort out or something,” he mutters under his breath, moving to leave. 

“Wait!” Remus calls after him. “Stay.” His voice comes out cracked, and whether it’s because of the roughness of what had just happened or something else Virgil does not know, but he doesn’t like it. He shakes his head in response. “Why?”

“I don’t need this in my life,” Virgil mutters, grabbing his jacket off the floor. “I don’t need you in my life I didn’t...I didn’t _like_ that.” 

“You _seemed_ to enjoy yourself.” 

“You’re literally crying, Remus!”

“So?” He looks confused, like a puppy that had been kicked. His eyes are red and his cheeks are flushed and he’s still, somehow turned on. “I enjoy it.” 

“Yeah well, that’s not me, and I don’t want it to be.” Remus shrinks down against the couch like a deflated balloon. “Sorry.”

“Oh fuck off,” Remus muttered. “No you’re not,” and he jumps up off the couch and brushes past Virgil. “But whatever, you don’t _‘need me in your life_ ’.” The bedroom door slams behind him and Virgil takes another deep breath, opening the front door and stepping out of it. 


	15. Day 15: Yandere: Logicality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love made Patton lose his mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: attempted murder, light gore, suicide, major character death.

\--

_**“Love made me do it,** _

_**Hands on my heart I swear,** _

_**Love made me do it,** _

_**I couldn’t stop myself,** _

_**His name is on that bullet,** _

_**Plead insanity to it,** _

_**Love made me do it,** _

_**Love made me lose my mind.”** _

_**-ellise, love made me do it.** _

\--

* * *

Have you ever wondered if the people you know are _really_ those people? Have you ever looked someone in the eyes and seen a completely different side to them? The person you’d known since you were a child, with their bright blue eyes suddenly looking so dull? Have you ever thought that someone was the sun and then realised the only thing that relates them is the fact they burn everything around them to ashes? 

Logan could’ve gone his entire life without that sort of revelation. 

He could’ve gone his entire life without staring down the barrel of a gun too. But he didn’t get that choice, nobody does, that sort of decision is usually made by someone else. 

He’d known Patton his entire life, they grew up together; Patton was always the soft-hearted one, so full of love that the whole world seemed to stem from his heart. Or at least, that’s what Logan had thought. Now, every smile the other man had ever given him seems fractured and splintered, crushed like glass as a new filter (bloodstained, burned, ripped, torn) is placed over every memory he had of this man. 

He’d loved him, too. Maybe not enough, maybe that was the problem. Could he have ever stopped Patton becoming this? Surely this sort of agony is inevitable, _right?_

Logan hates hospitals, as a child he thought he could smell and see death creeping through the place like a shadow that refuses to leave. But perhaps that was just the effect of watching his grandfather pass away at the age of five. Those sort of memories tend to stick, don’t they? 

He likes it much less now as an adult, because now he understands that it is very rare something beautiful comes out of hospitals. There’s just sickness, and so much of it. He likes it less sat in a hospital waiting room with a bandage around his arm and his feet bouncing against the floor with the sheer anxiety. All he can see is red. Roman’s hair, Patton’s lips, the blood. All that red, that colour...can he ever look at it the same again? 

All this because he’d loved someone else in the end. 

He’d lead Patton on and in that sense he _is_ the villain. He’d been drunk and stupid and running on hormones that night. He’d kissed Patton like he was looking for an answer to all of his stress, pressed him against the wall and dragged him to his room. 

Even then he’d thought he was beautiful. Those golden curls splayed out against the pillows and big blue eyes staring up at him like he was some sort of deity. He remembered sliding Patton’s glasses off his nose and kissing him with a warmth that he isn’t sure he _ever_ gave anyone else. He’d held his hands as he fucked him too, that little crucifix always around the other man’s neck jolting with their movements. Logan remembered thinking that there was something erotic about that, something divine jerking with the movements of something sinful. 

He’d fucked him more than once that night, addicted to his taste and his skin and his body. He didn’t know Patton loved him like that, he wouldn’t have left before sunrise if he had. Or maybe he would’ve, he doesn’t know. 

Even now he still remember his face, his body, no matter how drunk his haze had been there was this stuttering heat he’d felt when Patton’s back had arched into his touch; the way that angel-like face had screwed up and whimpered as he came. He doesn’t think he’d ever forget how wrong and perfect witnessing that had felt. 

Because he’d grown up with Patton. He was his best friend. And Logan did not love him romantically, and if he had to be drunk to love him sexually then what was the point anyway? 

That doesn’t make what he did right. 

He should’ve said no, he should’ve walked away; but would that have been a catalyst? Would this all have happened sooner? 

_This,_ like he’s still avoiding the truth. He’d gotten shot in the shoulder by his childhood best friend and now his boyfriend is in hospital with a bullet in his stomach. The whole event feels so blurry...but he remembers crying, he remembers staring at the gun and he remembers the feeling of skin splintering around hot metal. He remembers the feeling of it exploding inside of him. He remembers _screaming._ Logan remembers blaming himself too. Because Patton pulled the trigger, but who made him do that? Who should’ve realised sooner? Who could’ve gotten him the help he needed and avoided all of this? If Roman could hear him now he’d smack him around the head and tell him to stop being a drama queen. 

Roman, _fuck_ he didn’t deserve this. 

A pair of white shoes appear in his vision and he looks up through wide eyes at the nurse. “He’s going to be alright,” she gives a reassuring smile. “He’s very lucky, the bullet narrowly missed his spine, but he’s expected to make a slow, but eventually full recovery, there were some…” Logan zones out, he’s going to be okay. Roman is going to be okay. _He_ is _not_ going to be okay. 

He nods absently, wiping tears out of his eyes and standing up. “Thank you,” he whispers. “When can I see him?”

“At the moment, it’s family only, his family have been notified and are due to be here tomorrow morning...do you need us to make arrangements for you? You did take a bullet in the shoulder, you really shouldn’t be going home.” 

“I have...some things I need to take care of.”

“They still haven’t figured out who did it?” Logan shakes his head. “Are you sure you didn’t see his face?” 

“I just...it all happened so fast.” _Liar._ “If I did I just...can’t remember.” He wipes his eyes and takes a deep inhale inwards. “Thank you for your help, but I really do just want to go to bed and sleep.” Logan walks away, his feet scuffing against the floor as he pulls his hood up over his mussed curls and steps out of the hospital, his body moving, his brain screaming at him. He should’ve told the cops, he should’ve said. 

It was Roman who told him not too. 

“He needs help,” he’d said, choking on his own blood. “They won’t help him Logan, they’ll kill him.” 

So Logan had kept his mouth shut. 

And now he’s just stood here, outside the flat of the man that had tried to kill them both. Patton’s always had lousy fucking aim, they used to play basketball together and he couldn’t even manage his own feet. The kids would tease him over it all the time. Why does this man still feel human to him? He hurt him, he hurt Roman, he should be a monster.

Why are all the monsters human too? Is that why we come up with the things that lurk in the dark? Is it easier than knowing that monsters eat our food and sit at our tables? That they laugh and cry? That there are things they love and hate? That they are people? 

Is it easier considering monsters to be evil demons that prey on our weaknesses, than know that all the monsters are charming, and smile, and wear the same faces as you? 

He stares at the door and feels a pit open up in his stomach worse than anything he’d ever felt. He feels sick and tired and dizzy. He steps away from the door and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in. Then, Logan shakes his head and walks away. 

It’s a few days before he gets the phone call. He doesn’t really react, like some part of his mind and body knew this is where this would end. At least, in the end, Patton had felt remorse for his actions; he’d just really wishes he could’ve lived it too. 

The last time Logan ever saw his childhood best friend alive was the night he pointed a gun at him and shot him. The next time he saw him, was at his funeral.


	16. Day 16: macro/micro: Intrulogical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus makes interesting company

He found him on the windowsill, curled up between the flowerpots like he hadn’t slept in so long. He was wrapped up in tiny clothes and a tiny shawl that he was using as a blanket; and he was so small. Remus hadn’t been sure what he was, perhaps a pixie, a fairy, something other than a very, very tiny human being. He stared at the tiny little thing, his dark brown hair ruffled and sticking up everywhere, his little glasses clutched in his hands, and wondered what on earth he’s doing in Remus’ apartment. 

He must’ve come in through the open window. 

But when his blue eyes blink awake he startles and jumps back, looking terrified of the big human. “Hey it’s okay,” Remus whispers, titling his head to the side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” and that’s true, he is not going to hurt him. He holds out a hand for the other, and the small man approaches with caution, shuffling forward on his knees and studying the hand with a look in his eyes that is distrustful. 

“You’re not going to sell me?” He asks. 

“You’re far too small to make any money,” Remus chuckles lightly. “What are you?”

“A doll,” he replies quietly, before gently sitting on Remus’ hand, his entire body spans the length of his hand, his feet reaching just past Remus’ wrist. “My name is Logan.”

“I’m Remus, nice to meet ya...I do gotta wonder why you’re sleeping on my windowsill though, that doesn’t look comfortable.” He cups his hands together to make sure he doesn’t drop Logan, humming a little as he glances around the room. “Oh! I have the perfect idea, thank Amazon.” He places Logan down on the kitchen table and scrambles through his bin, pulling out a cardboard box. He uses a knife to cut most of it away, before humming. “Oh I have a good idea!” Logan watches the strange man with interest as he goes digging through his laundry basket for a rather worn out shirt. He folds it and places it at the bottom of the box. “That’s all I’ve got for now, ooh, pillows...uh...socks?” he asks, looking over at the tiny man for some guidance. 

“I am indifferent, that already appears to be a better bed than I ever had.” 

He looks so tired, the poor thing, Remus thinks to himself, helping Logan into the little cardboard-shirt bed and then carrying him carefully to his own bedroom, clearing off the bedside table to rest him on top of it. “There, now you don’t have to sleep by a drafty window, and you can stay warm!” Logan is too tired to really argue, when he’s awake he’s sure he’ll be doubtful of this stranger’s intentions with him, but right now the soft shirt and warmth of the room is enough to lull him to sleep. 

When he wakes up, Remus is sitting on his own bed with a plate full of snacks and sandwiches, tapping away on his laptop. He notices Logan’s movements out of the corner of his eye and beams excitedly. “I don’t know what food you like, but I brought a bit of everything for you.” Logan peeks over the edge of the bedside table, and Remus picks up a piece of chocolate, handing it over to Logan, who takes it between both hands and nibbles on the corner. “Would you like to watch a film with me? You can either lie on me or I can move your bed over here.” Logan does not really have a preference, mostly eyeing the plate of food, so Remus just holds out his hand and the other steps onto it. 

“Why are you being so...helpful?” The doll asks quietly after a moment. “Usually I am...not treated with this kindness, I get evicted, or people threaten to sell me...or worse.” Remus shrugs lightly, trying not to show how worrying those words are. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had any company, besides, you’re like a super intelligent hamster it’s not like you’re going to get in my way.” 

He does not get in Remus’ way. Actually quite the opposite. Over the span of a few weeks, Remus becomes so attached to Logan that he cannot fathom a life without the doll. He takes him almost everywhere with him, except the bathroom. He grows fond of the small creature, grows addicted to taking care of him and Logan, in turn, reminding Remus to take care of himself too. He becomes happier to have this person in his life. He manages to work out some semblance of a diet for Logan and learns how to sew to make him pillows out of ripped socks and wool; it really is like having a pet that can actually talk back, or a human friend who is just really small. 

“I never asked you know, but...do you need showers and baths? I don’t really know how your body works, so I just assumed that you didn’t, but now I realise you might have just not wanted to ask.”

“Well, I don’t suffer any illness or injury from not having a bath, but I do recall them being pleasant.” 

“Okay, I could fill up the sink for you with some bubbles, will you be okay in there alone or do you want me to stay?” Logan blinks a little, his tiny shoulders shrugging as he munches on a chip. 

“I’m indifferent to your presence whilst I bathe, for the most part, I don’t really see the big fuss around nudity, I just have a smaller version of your body,” the words settle in on Remus for a second, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment. Logan catches the expression and gives him a quizzical look. 

“It’s just...you’re not human, so why do you...does everything...work, and why?” The doll gives him the sort of look someone who is very confused gives, so he sighs. “Like your cock, your...genitals?” His voice raises a pitch higher as if looking for a word that will land in Logan’s brain, when the smaller man nods in response, he continues. “Does it function like mine does, like you can touch it, it gets hard, it releases…” his cheeks puff out as he tries to remember the scientific term “...semen, does yours do that and...why does it do that I’m under assumption there isn’t some sort of doll breeding pen.” 

“There isn’t,” Logan clarifies. “It does get erect when touched, but it doesn’t release anything, I suppose that was far too complex even for people who knew how to make humanity out of plastic.” Remus expresses a ‘huh’ noise of consideration, before nodding. Honestly out of this entire situation that is the least weird element at play here. “So may I have a bath?” 

The dark-haired man nods, scooping Logan up in his hands and shuffling off the bed to carry him to the bathroom. He places Logan on top of the sink and places the plug into it, filling it up with hot and cold water, adding a little bubble bath into the mix for the doll to enjoy. The smaller man undresses, pulling his shirt over his head and pulling off his trousers, he folds them neatly, and Remus picks them up to put them on the shelf, out of the way of any water. After he’s sure the water isn’t too hot, he helps Logan into the sink and watches him relax into the bubbles. “Good?” Remus asks. 

“Pleasant,” Logan replies. He nods in response, dipping his finger into the water and playfully splashing it at the doll, who grumbles lightly in response and flicks some water back at Remus’ hand. “There is a definite unfair advantage here.” Logan mumbles, leaning back to dip his hair into the water, and then pulling himself to sit up. Remus chuckles lightly in response. 

“Do you need some soap? I could cut some off for you if you like.”

“Just hold it out for me, I’ll rub it onto my hands and wash myself without you desecrating your soap.” There’s a tinge of amusement in his tone that makes his friend smile, reaching for the soap and holding it in front of Logan for the other to apply to himself. He manages most of his body alone, until he’s trying to do his back. “May I acquire your assistance?” He asks, hopefully. Remus chuckles slightly, before rubbing some soap onto his thumb and then transferring it to Logan’s back. 

His skin is unreasonably soft for someone who claims to be made out of plastic, this much is for sure. 

He rubs the soap into the other’s skin, feeling his body relax under the touch as he moves in tiny circles; the other’s skin is alluring in a sense, he looks like he should be made of something that doesn’t feel so soft to the touch. But he is, he’s incredibly soft. Logan leans his arms on his knees, his body feeling warm and hot underneath the touch, cheeks flushing as he sinks into the physical contact that he hasn’t had in a very long time. 

Remus, curiously, trails to his shoulders, and grazes his fingertips down Logan’s arm, the other looks up at him, wide-eyed as his hand comes out to grip Remus’. It’s then the human realises that his little cock is hard, bobbing against the surface of the water that pools around his waist. He retracts his hand slowly. “Sorry, I got carried away,” he replies sheepishly. 

“It felt nice, why are you apologising?” Logan replied, squeezing his thighs together and leaning back on his hands. “You don’t have to stop, either.” Remus blinks as the doll leans back in the water to wash the soap from his back, leaving the front of his body entirely exposed to the taller man. Remus takes a deep breath and moves his thumb to the front of Logan’s body, trailing down his torso in the same tiny circles. His palm bumps against Logan’s little cock and the doll whimpers a little, shifting his hips to grind up against him. Remus feels his own cock twitch a little as he watches the water of the sink move with Logan’s thrusts, applying some more pressure for the other man to rock up against his hand however he pleases. 

Remus makes a soft noise before reaching into the water to pick Logan up. He stares at him for a moment, leaning back in Remus’s hands, legs spread and cock hard, his entire body blushing with the exposure and warm water that he’d been dwelling in. The human leans down and runs the tip of his tongue against the other man’s cock, before pressing his entire tongue to Logan’s body. The doll gasps, lying back completely as his hips buck into the small movements. The noises he makes are so small that Remus has to strain to hear every gasp and whimper, but he finds himself entirely wrapped up in the sounds. 

He feels Logan’s cock twitch and the moan of Remus’ name he makes was the loudest he’s ever heard him be, his hips stuttering against the tongue on his body before his entire body unwinds and he relaxes into Remus’ hands. Teasingly, the other man jerks his tongue one more time, revelling in the gasp this brings, before he pulls away and carefully sets the other man back in the water. 

The doll had never quite looked so at peace, dipping to lie down in the water with a tired and content sort of smile. 

Remus is still straining against his zipper, but he sets that aside for now. “I think you might need another wash.” he chuckles, Logan laughs quietly in response, nodding. 


	17. Day 17: ABO+Breeding: Virgil/Janus/Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus goes into heat and his mates take care of him.

Remus feels far too hot, his whole body is damp and sweaty and warm, _too_ warm, like he wants to rip his skin off from the sheer heat. He’d opened a window, he’d tried to make himself more comfortable, but his insides are still tangling inside of him and he feels like his entire body is about to boil alive. A low whimper leaves his lips as he grinds against his hand, feeling uncomfortable and wet and just... _lonely_. 

When he hears the front door open he sits up off the bed and lets out a loud, pathetic plea, hearing footsteps thunder up the stairs as his hips shift against one hand and the other grips the hoodie underneath him. Another quiet sound of relief brushes over his lips as the bedroom door opens and Virgil moves into the room, they’d already dropped their shirt, hoodie and shoes somewhere along the way, clambering onto the bed to kiss Remus soothingly. 

The Omega sighs against his Beta’s lips, his whole being momentarily satiated before the gnawing feeling in his gut returns. “Janus is in on his way baby, it’s okay, I’ll take care of you in the meantime, okay?” Remus nods, allowing himself to be pushed down against the bed and shivering as two of Virgil’s fingers slide into his cunt with ease, pressing deep into him. Virgil’s other hand unfastens their jeans, before they return to kissing Remus enough just to distract him from the yearning for his Alpha’s knot. 

“Do you want me to fuck you or do you want to wait for Janus?” 

“You, now, please.” Remus whimpers, grinding his hips with a pathetic whimper. He needs one of his mates in him now. “Breed me Virge, I need you, need you both, need.. _.please_ ,” his whole body shakes and his nails dig into Virgil’s shoulders enough to scratch them. VIrgil pulls back and shoves their jeans and underwear off their body, whilst Remus makes a noise that could’ve been words, slurred by an aching desire the moment their fingers leave him. 

Betas do not have such a strong sense of smell, but you’d have to lack any sense of scent at all to miss how this room smells of heat, of Remus, and that’s already enough to have Virgil hardening. They stroke their cock quickly before lining it up with Remus’ entrance and pushing in with a quick, fluid movement. They don’t pause or wait for the other to adjust, he’s soaked and lax and needs Virgil to fuck him, properly, _now_. So they do, fucking into him in long, hard thrusts, their hand gripping Remus’ thigh as their hips slam together. 

The omega whimpers underneath them, moaning and gasping as his body jolts with each thrust, leaning up for a hard, filthy kiss that is more saliva than anything else. Virgil curses under their breath as they lean their weight on one hand, the other coming down to stroke Remus’ little cock with their movement, pushing against the hard nub with each thrust with far less delicacy than they would usually. 

The front door opens again and Remus gasps, his cunt clenching around Virgil’s cock as cum soaks his own thighs. His hips stutter with the jolted and sudden force of his orgasm, brought on as he can smell and hear Janus. Virgil is not offended, in fact they chuckle softly with a shake of their head, continuing to fuck into the sensitive man as their mate makes his way up the stairs. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Janus shuts the bedroom door behind him, throwing his bag and coat on the floor. “Have you got him?” Virgil nods, barely stilling their thrusts to reply. Remus reaches out towards Janus, who tugs his shirt over his head and sits down on the bed to kick off his shoes. He leans down to kiss Remus heatedly, swallowing the gasps and moans of the sensitive omega.

Virgil slams into Remus with a particularly hard thrust, tilting their head toward Janus to also steal a quick kiss from their alpha. “You’re doing so well,” Janus reassures them both, his hand running through Remus’ sweat soaked hair. “Look at you, what a pretty little mess you are.” Remus makes a half-coherent noise of agreement, a little preoccupied with the noises Virgil is making and the way his own cunt is being stretched open by the Beta’s cock. “How are you feeling, darling?” 

“Good, good, more…” Remus squirms and gasps, his hand gripping Janus’ forearm like he doesn’t want his alpha to leave his sight for even a second. The taller man chuckles and unbuckles his own pants, lifting his hips to slide his pants down and then kick them off with his underwear and socks. Leaning down to suck gently at Remus’ skin, his neck, his collarbones, his chest, every part of him he can access. 

Virgil gasps out their names at the high-pitched moan of pleasure Remus gives in response, their hips snapping forward as they curse under their breath, movements stilling. Remus whimpers with the sensation of his mate coming inside him, the hand that isn’t gripping Janus digging into Virgil’s skin hard enough to draw blood. 

The beta draws out of their mate slowly, cock softening as they move off of him to switch places with Janus. Remus rests his head in Virgil’s thigh lovingly, nuzzling against them by way of saying _“minemineminemine”_ without the words that he is scarce of. Janus grinds his cock against Remus’ soaked cunt, rubbing against his little cock in the process; Remus wraps his legs around the other man’s waist, his hips bucking into the contact with a growl of pleasure and need. 

Virgil leans down and nuzzles against Remus’ hair, soothing him silently as Janus’ cock pushes into him, stretching the omega open with the same ease as Virgil had. “You’re doing so well for us darling,” they mutter gently, “such a good little omega for us, doing so well, letting us breed you like this.” Remus whimpers and pushes back against the touch to his hair a little more forcefully than intended. But Virgil is not upset, they just chuckle lightly “careful now, don’t need to be getting a hospital visit.” 

Janus smirks at the two of them, drawing his hips out and pushing into Remus in a quick, firm motion, repeating the jarring thrusts enough to watch the other man jerk and jolt underneath him with heated gasps for more. “Do you like it, omega? Do you like being bred?” His voice comes out deeper, the sort of voice he has when he’s trying to keep his control, his cool. It’s harder for alphas to keep control of their minds with an omega in heat than it is for betas. For a while, Virgil was the only one who was allowed to satiate Remus. Janus just wasn’t ready to know how to keep a handle of his hormones yet, so (much to Remus’ chagrin) he would leave and return when Remus’ heat was over. 

He’s gotten good at it now though, even though Virgil can see the slight shake in his body as he fucks into Remus with a firmness that is nowhere near what he’s really capable of. 

“Yes, yes, alpha, need your knot.” Remus whimpers underneath him, his hands gripping whoever and whatever he can as he feels the wave of his second orgasm approaching. 

“It’s okay darling, you can come for me if you need,” Janus mutters gently, feeling the way Remus’ body is tensing. “You don’t have to hold on.” Remus’ body tenses with the second wave of his orgasm, his nails scratching into Janus’ back and Virgil’s legs enough that the beta winces but says nothing, not wanting to distress the omega. 

A low growl leaves the alpha’s throat as Remus’ cunt clenched around him, cum soaking between their bodies again. “He’s going to be out of any fluid soon,” Virgil jokes lightly, keeping the air neutralised, not allowing either of them to delve too deeply into their own heads. 

“I’m surprised he isn’t already,” Janus grins back, grunting as he feels his knot forming, the smell of Remus’ cum and his heat and his mates driving him insane. His hand shifts from the bed towards Virgil, who intertwines their fingers, using this touch to anchor himself. The alpha curses under his breath, his movements becoming more erratic. Remus whimpers underneath him at the sensation of the forming knot catching against his entrance with each thrust, the tinge of pain sending pleasurable waves up his spine and dragging his orgasm even closer. 

Janus’ hips snap forward and he buries his cock inside of the omega, growling as his cock twitches inside of the other man. Little gasps of pleasure crawl from Remus’ lips as he feels the other cum inside him, his legs tightening around Janus’ waist as he keeps him as close as possible, shifting his own hips just to feel the knot inside him. 

The alpha rests his forehead on Remus’ shoulder, taking some deep breaths before leaning up and trailing his hand down to Remus’ small cock, gathering some of the slick and rubbing him in quick, fluid movements under the other man is shuddering and gasping and begging underneath him, his body jerking with his third and most exhausting orgasm. The movements jostle Janus’ cock and the alpha bites down on his own lip to keep the rumbling growl of possessiveness from escaping him, squeezing Virgil’s hand in his own. 

“Are you okay?” Virgil asks Janus, the alpha nods and relaxes his body to rest his head on Remus’ collarbone, nuzzling against him. Virgil slides off the bed to go grab some damp towels, returning to help the two clean up as best as they can. 

“You did so well,” Janus mumbles against Remus’ skin. “You’re so good for us, Remus,” he hums, the tired and satiated omega underneath him relaxing a little, tiredness overcoming him from his draining orgasm. 

Virgil runs his hands through Remus’ hair gently. “You both did so well,” the beta hums, his hand finding Janus’ again. 

“And you,” the alpha grumbles, rewarding him with a light laugh. 

“And me too, he needs a bath though.” Remus makes a small noise of complaint. “You know the rules Re, we can’t have you getting an infection or anything like that, we need to keep you clean.” They lean down to press a kiss to each of their partner’s heads, leaning back. “But first we can just relax baby.” 

Remus gives a small smile, content to be surrounded by his mates.


	18. Day 18: Losing Virginity: Mosleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton has never had sex, Remy is happy to oblige.

“I’ve never done this before.” The moment the words are blurted from Patton’s lips, Remy darts back with a wide-eyed expression. His hands, which had been gripping his partner’s hips with some intense sort of passion, slack in their grip and his body inches away from the other man just so. Patton opens his mouth to say something, anything, his cheeks flushed and body hot, his cock half-hard in his pants, but he doesn’t know what to say. He resolves to making a small, apologetic noise. 

“You’ve never...had sex?” Remy asked, quietly. 

“Nope,” Patton replies awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ as though that will somehow dissolve the sudden nervous tension surrounding his boyfriend. His boyfriend of four months. Who he never really found the time to admit he’d never lost his virginity to. In retrospect, perhaps before things started to get heated would’ve been a better time to discuss this. 

“Do you want to...take this slow or…?” 

“Sure, I feel like everyone else usually gets milestones.” The casual tone leaving Patton’s lips eases Remy’s apparent stress. “You don’t have to look so worried Rem, it’s not like I’m admitting to murdering someone or something.”

“Yes...well...I just...I’ve never been somebody's first before,” he admits quietly. “And my first wasn’t exactly anything to write home about, I don’t know...what does it mean for you? Do you want it to be special or…?”

“Rem,” he interrupts the rambles quietly. “It’s already special, it’s with you.” Remy’s cheeks heat in a flustered blush for a long moment, dirty talk he can handle, genuine romantic affection? Not quite what he’s used to in any sense or regard. “It’s not really anything important to me, at all, but yes I’d rather take it slow so I can grasp the logistics and the usual...I don’t really know how to have penetrative sex, like I understand functionally how that works but the preparation and…”  
“I understand,” Patton relaxes a little, and so does Remy, smiling as he catches the smaller man’s hand in his own. He brings Patton’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckle. “Okay then, let’s resume.” He leans down to kiss him again but it’s slower this time, yet still not lacking in its intensity or heat. Patton’s body melts against his own, pressing them together as his hands wrap around the back of the taller man’s neck, playing with the strands of dark brown hair that curl down the nape. 

Remy’s arms wrap around his waist, lifting him up, which prompts a small, giggled squeak from the other’s lips before he’s carried over to the bed and laid down. Patton looks up at him breathlessly for a moment, his hand coming up to slide his glasses up his nose. Remy’s hand cups his cheek for a moment, a much softer smile on his lips as his thumb caresses the soft, freckled skin, before he leans down to kiss him firmly. The other man parts his lips with a deep inhale, shifting his legs apart a little further for Remy to press their bodies together. He inhales sharply as their clothed hips meet, instinctually pressing up against the weight that bears down on him with a gasp for air. 

Then Remy rolls his hips down against his own and Patton stammers out a broken moan, gripping the other man’s shirt. Remy is entirely sure he could watch the other man gasping underneath him for eternity, repeating his movements to elicit those same pretty, unrestrained noises. 

Eventually however, his jeans start getting uncomfortable, as much as he’s finding it hard to tear away from rutting against the other man. He leans up, his hands trailing underneath Patton’s shirt as he tugs it up and off of him. The blond’s glasses tangle in his shirt, which has them both giggling as he retrieves them, sliding them back on his nose to beam up at Remy with some distinct sort of excitement. Remy can’t resist kissing him again, his hand sliding down Patton’s bare back, palm pressing against his spine as he pulls his body to him as best as he can with this position. 

Then the hand shifts to push him back to lying down, moving to unbuckle his belt, sliding it through the buckle and then popping the button on his jeans. He pulls the zipper down with a slow determination, his hand grazing against Patton’s cock, watching the other man’s cheeks flush as he bites down on his own lip, staring up at Remy as though he’s holding his breath. “Are you okay?” Remy asks, because he isn’t sure. 

“I’m okay,” Patton replies, because he is. “Please touch me.” Remy helps him out of his jeans and underwear, unable to resist leaning down to take Patton’s cock in his mouth. He feels the weight fill his mouth and throat, not minding when Patton’s hips jolt involuntarily. He could listen to those moans of surprise or want all day, all night. 

Remy pulls back to suck at the tip before pulling away, leaning up to kiss Patton firmly, allowing the other’s hands to struggle with his jeans until he himself is moving up to kick them off, tugging his shirt over his head to decorate the floor with the little mess of clothes they’ve both made. 

The moment his body presses back to Patton’s, a hot flush crawls through him. Patton’s skin is soft, and his hands are even softer as they drift up his body, fingertips tracing Remy’s sides, his nails running down his back, his body pushing up against his own. Patton uses his hands a lot, he bakes and cooks, but his hands are not rough or used the way someone who usually has various utensils in their hands all day would be. Everything about him is soft. 

Remy leans his weight on his forearms, their lips meeting again; Patton’s legs wrap around his waist as their cocks slide together just for a moment. The taller man curses under his breath, the sharp shock of stimulation as intense as he’d ever felt. Because this is Patton, his boyfriend, the same man who two weeks into a relationship Remy thought he was going to actually marry. Because he’s perfect...and untouched. He’s the first person to touch Patton like this, the first person to feel Patton like this, to see him grinding up against him and gasp against his lips. 

He’d never considered himself to have a kink for that, but now he isn't so sure. 

Remy leans back up a little “I really want to keep sucking you off,” he admits. “Please,” he wants to please Patton, he wants him to be the focus, he wants to feel him come down his throat. 

“Please do,” Patton’s voice is breathless, strained, like all the air in his body had been knocked out of him. Remy finds that, somehow, much more attractive than he would usually. 

He’s not a virgin, but he doesn’t think he’s ever really had sex in a way that matters, and in that sense...perhaps this is his first too. He’d barely realised that you should probably have sex with people you like. 

Patton’s legs unwrap from around his waist, falling spread against the bed as Remy moves down his body, lying on his stomach. He presses gentle kisses to Patton’s thighs, nipping very lightly at the skin before sucking gently, making his way up to the crease where his inner thigh meets his hips. By the time he’s got that far, Patton is physically shaking with need. Remy finds that cute, and hot, how much Patton wants this. He leans down and sucks at the head of his cock, but he can’t tease him, he doesn’t want to tease him; he wants to make Patton come, wants to feel him lose control underneath him. “No need to be gentle, do what comes naturally,” Remy advises, gripping the base of Patton’s cock, before taking him down his throat in a quick and fluid motion. 

How he’d gone his entire life without hearing those sounds, that gasped moan like his partner had been winded. Or his entire life without feeling Patton’s hands wrap delicately through his hair, or his hips jolting in sheer need. He lets Patton do as he pleases, only pulling back a little to stop his stomach from lurching. But for the most part he just lets him do what he needs to do, not chastising him from his hips jerking, or his thighs trembling, or if he tugs on his hair a little too hard. 

Patton does not have much resolve, unsurprising really, he’s never had his dick sucked in his life. He moans out Remy’s name with a forcefulness as his hips stutter into the other man’s mouth, his cock twitching against Remy’s tongue as he swallows the release. The brunette sucks lightly at the head of the other’s cock just to see the shuddering squirm this brings his lover, before kneeling up with a grin. “Good?” He asks. 

“Wonderful,” Patton sits up and shuffles closer, looking up at Remy with a smile that turns mischievous, as his hands rest on the other’s hips and he leans down to take the head of his hard cock in his mouth. Remy inhales sharply, his hand coming up to run through Patton’s mussed hair. 

“A-Are you sure you want to-oh fuck.” Patton takes him down a little more, his hand moving to squeeze the base of Remy’s cock. His movements are not fluid, but experimental and curious, but Remy doesn’t mind, although he’s fairly certain his thighs are shaking. Patton pulls back after a moment, his hand taking over, by the movements of his jaw the other man can derive that it’s aching as he tries to do the mouth equivalent of stretching the muscles out. Remy grins down at him a little, not wanting to tease, so he just leans down and presses a kiss to the top of the other’s head reassuringly. 

Patton tries again, moving his hand and mouth in a quick rhythm, seemingly getting the hang of it. The other man feels a distinct sense of “this is going to be over faster than usual” and it’s not because Patton is particularly astounding his first time sucking a cock, it’s simply just how Patton looks. His usually neat heat messy and falling into his eyes, his glasses sliding down his nose, wide eyes looking up at Remy through his lashes to gauge his reactions. His cheeks are flushed and there’s sweat on his skin, and he’s naked, on Remy’s bed with his lips being stretched around his partner’s cock. 

He thinks the image alone would serve him for years to come. 

Patton pulls away again, grimacing as his free hand rubs at his jaw, a movement which gets a light and quick chuckle from Remy. Instead he lets his hand take over, movements quicker and more practised; it’s just like how he touches himself except, it’s with someone else. Remy leans back a little, his eyes fluttering closed as he feels the rapid heat pushing through his body, cursing lightly under his breath amongst little moans of Patton’s name, encouraging him, keeping him going. 

His thighs shake under the strain of keeping upright as his orgasm rips through him, his hands gripping Patton’s shoulders as he tries not to collapse on top of the other man. Patton watches his face, categorising every little crease, every gasp, every movement as cum splatters over his own skin. 

(Patton did not consider himself to be a kinky person, not yet anyway, but there’s a feral sort of feeling that accompanies Remy’s cum over his skin that makes him yearn for more)

Remy leans down to kiss him firmly, as if to say “thank you,” or “please,” or maybe “can we do this again sometime?” Patton kisses him back with an accomplished smile. 

“I should probably go wash this off.” Patton chuckles after they’ve both returned to some semblance of normality. 

“I’ll give you a hand,” Remy grins, a look in his eyes that says all the other man needs to know. 

“I certainly wouldn’t be opposed.”


	19. Day 19: Thigh Fucking: Emile/Virgil

Virgil and Emile have been friends for roughly two friends, they shared a dorm in university and remained friends throughout the rest of their education, before finally moving back in with each other the year following their start into the real world. They were close too, they knew almost everything about each other, something just connecting their souls and making them feel...at home in each other’s company. 

It was an interesting night, that night, and it starts, as _all_ good love stories do, with a panic attack.

\--

Virgil couldn’t breathe. His room is smaller than it usually is, and he cannot breathe. The walls are closing in and his lungs are closing up, the world is swimming around him, and he can’t see a thing; everything is just static. The noises of the street are so far away, his body disconnected from the bed underneath him, his throat rejecting the air that he wants to breathe. That he _needs_ to breathe. 

He manages, by some semblance of grasping at the real world, to knock something crashing, he doesn’t know what it is, but it thuds on the floor with a sound so loud and harrowing that he knows somewhere in the back of his starving mind that it must have gotten Emile’s attention. Moments later, he hears the creak of the door, and hears Emile’s voice. 

His voice is always so calm and soothing, like an anchor dragging him back to the real world. He hears him say his name, and that he’s going to touch him, to try and ground him. Then he feels a cool hand on his wrist. It doesn’t press, or grab, it simply sits. Through the touch he can feel the other man’s pulse, thudding heavily against his skin. He searches for the touch, grips it as best as he can and uses it to still his breathing. The room stops shrinking, the wall is no longer pressing to his chest and the ceiling is not falling on his head. Emile does not ask him what set him off, he doesn’t ask him to do anything, but _breathe_. 

Virgil breathes. Deep and shuddering breaths that make his ribs ache and his lungs scream. He takes a heaving breath inwards and clasps his hand over Emile’s, holding onto him. He wants to hold onto him forever in that moment. The fog in his mind starts to seep away and the tears on his cheeks fall, but he remembers to blink now, finding his friend’s face in the mass of darkness. The room is no longer small. 

“Are you with me?” Emile speaks, clearly but not loudly. Virgil nods. “Good, what are five things you can see in the room that are purple, Virgil?” Virgil blinks and looks around. 

“The lampshade, the curtains...the plush spider you won for me at the fair, the squares on the bedsheets...t-the...carpet, the carpet it’s purple.” Emile smiles and nods. 

“Good, can you name me five things you feel right now, physically or emotionally?” 

“Anxious, tired...I can feel the bedsheets, and your hand, and my hair.” He brings a shaky hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes the moment he realised the strands are poking against his eyelashes. 

“Good,” Emile smiles warmly. “I’m going to help you stand, okay? You need to move from this room for a little while to help your thoughts, is that okay Virgil?” Virgil nods and grips Emile’s forearms as the other man helps him to his feet. There’s a second of lightheadedness that passes once he closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. His breathing is no longer stuttering, so he takes a long breath in and releases it, counting seconds in his head before he nods, signalling he is okay to walk. 

Emile’s bedroom is much brighter than Virgil’s, he has so many fairy lights that it’s a wonder he doesn’t spend more time switching everything on and off than anything else. His room is also very pink, his hair, the walls, the carpet. Pink is one of his favourite colours, he says it makes him feel happy because it’s so bright, and it’s also the colour of love; which makes him, in turn, feel loved by himself and his environment. 

Virgil doesn’t really want to know what it says about him that his room is mostly black and dark purple. 

He sits down on Emile’s bed, his heart rate finally starting to calm down. “Would you like to stay here tonight?” The shorter man asks, sitting down beside him. His smile is so calm, and there’s no panic or fear or disappointment in his eyes. There never is, he always just looks at Virgil with kindness and not...a problem, which is a greater blessing than anyone had ever bestowed on him in his entire life. 

“If that’s okay?”

“Of course! I love sleepovers.” Virgil smiles a little at his bright-eyed enthusiasm, shifting up the bed a little to slide his feet and legs into the covers. The warmth he didn’t really know he needed makes him relax. Emile moves into the other side, immediately pushing his entire body under the covers and dropping his head onto the pillow. His mess of pink curls splay out against the even pinker pillowcase, sliding his glasses off and folding them onto the bedside cabinet. He wordlessly turns on his side and holds out his arm for his friend. Virgil, with a content smile of relief, lies down and curls up against him. 

Emile is smaller than him, but he always feels protected in his arms, even from himself. 

And then they slept. That was all that happened that night.

Except when Virgil wakes up, at around 10 the next morning, his back is facing Emile, the covers tangling up in their legs. He hums a little and shifts back, eager to be back in his friend’s arms, and this is fine, nothing out of the ordinary. 

He isn’t sure what it is, maybe it’s his body, maybe it’s the summer morning Floridian heat, maybe it’s just an interesting dream. But he hears Emile whisper his name. At first, he thought he was awake, and made a small hum in reply as if to say “yes, I’m still here, I didn’t leave.” But then Emile’s arm tightens around his waist; not to pull him closer, but like it was tensing up, and his body pressed against Virgil’s. 

Virgil has had a lot of awkward sleepovers before, he’s a guy, they’re usually guys, and things just happen with their bodies that they don’t have any control over. One particular problem this morning is the fact that Emile’s cock is rock hard and presses against his lower back, his hips shifting ever so slightly to chase the stimulation. 

Emile is definitely _not_ awake. 

However that does mean that he’s dreaming about _Virgil._

The taller man curses lightly under his breath as he feels his own cock twitch in response to the breathy, too-quiet moans of his name. He doesn’t know what to do, Emile is asleep; should he wake him up? Would that be awkward? Just because he’s dreaming about him that doesn’t mean he wants him like that, the subconscious mind can do all sorts of strange things. Either way, he’s having a good dream and Virgil...doesn’t feel uncomfortable about that, is there any point in waking him up? 

He resides to close his eyes and pretend that he too is asleep. The grip around him loosens after a while, but the other man’s cock is still pressing hard against his back, lightly rubbing against him in a way that simply isn’t enough to bring Emile any release. 

Virgil swallows his pride and shuffles a little, biting down on his lip as he presses his ass back against Emile’s cock. He should wake him up, he really should. “Em, Emmy?” He says gently, before clearing his throat a little. “Emile!” He feels the other man twitch a little, and a low sigh brushes against the back of his neck, which is followed by a quick cuss. 

“Shit, sorry,” he hears the other mutter. “Shit, I must’ve freaked you out, I’m so…” Virgil rolls his eyes and presses his hips back against Emile’s wordlessly, the thought of speaking feeling far too panic-inducing to even attempt. “Fuck,” Emile mutters, his hand gripping the front of Virgil’s shirt. “Virgil I can’t just-ah, _shit,_ ” A gasped moan escapes him as Virgil shifts his ass against Emile’s cock. “Virgil, wait, stop I can’t just...are you sure?” The hand that had been around him grips his hip instead, stilling him. “What brought this on?”

“You said my name,” Virgil muttered, his cheeks feeling hot. “I assumed that...this is what you want.”

“Yes, but it is what _you_ want?” Virgil nods hurriedly in response, yes, yes this is _definitely_ what he wants. 

“Positive?” 

“Yes.” He hears Emile swallow dryly, his hand coming around Virgil’s waist again as he grinds his cock against his ass. Virgil feels him breath against his neck, feels his lips press too the back as he whispers a breathy ‘fuck,’ followed by the other’s name. Virgil feels his own cock harden at the sensation, grinding his hips back against Emile’s as he breathes deep breaths in. 

Emile’s hand wanders down his stomach, his palm pressing over the shirt until it brushes against the tip of Virgil’s cock, tenting in his pajama pants. “Yeah, I’d say that means you’re enjoying it,” he whispers breathlessly, Virgil can feel the other man’s heart hammering in his chest against his back. With a quick, and gentle squeeze, Virgil’s hips buck into Emile’s hand, a soft whine ghosting his lips. “You’re so cute,” he mutters, leaning to nip at his ear, which gets a sharp inhale of breath in return. Emile’s hand pulls away from his cock, instead moving to tug at his waistband and underwear, tugging them off, and then his own. They both kick the items of clothing out of the way, and Emile leans over to open the drawer of the bedside cabinet. Virgil hears the lube bottle cap open and tenses a little, thinking that he really hasn’t had time to prepare and isn’t really all that in the mood for penetration. But instead, Emile lubes up his cock and presses forward, his hand tugging Virgil’s leg up a little and pressing his cock between his thighs. His hand then goes to Virgil’s cock, his own brushing against the other’s perineum and balls as he fucks into Virgil’s thighs. 

Virgil presses back, squeezing his thighs together a little, a sensation that has his Emile moaning into his ear desperately. The feeling of Emile’s cock sliding against his thighs has him breathless, rocking his hips into the touch on his cock, but periodically clenching his thigh muscles just to hear those quiet, shuddering gasps of pleasure. 

Emile doesn’t seem to be taken to teasing either, his hand rhythmically stroking his cock in quick and fast movements, dragging him closer and closer to the edge. His whole body twitches periodically when he finds the edge peaking as Emile’s hand brushes a particularly pleasurable spot. The smaller man seems to notice this, and picks up the pace, until Virgil’s body is tensing, pushing back against Emile as loud moans of “please,” and “emile” and “oh fuckfuckfuck” rip from his throat, preceding a shuddering moan as his cock twitches in the other’s hand, cum dripping over the bed sheets as the taller man shakes in his friend’s arms. 

Emile presses a soothing kiss to his shoulder, his movements relaxing, becoming less intense, until he finally pulls away. Virgil takes a deep breath, pressing his thighs together. “Go on,” he encourages, as Emile’s hand rests on his hip. 

“Are you sure?”

“Please...I like how it feels.” 

The hand on his hip tightens in grip as Emile begins to focus more on his own pleasure, his cock sliding between Virgil’s thighs. The taller man inhales sharply as he feels the movements create friction on his sensitive skin, squeezing his thighs together as best as he can to make it more pleasurable for the other. 

Emile buries his face in Virgil’s shoulder, panting as he frantically chases his high, groaning with moan of Virgil’s name as he hangs on a frustrated edge, his whole body aching from the movement, until finally he comes, his cock twitching between his partner’s thighs as come drips onto the other man’s skin. He exhales shakily and presses a kiss to Virgil’s shoulder, resting as he catches his breath. 

“Are you okay?” He asks Virgil quietly. 

“Never better,” the other man replies, his brain finally jostling back to earth with a sharp realisation of what they’d just done. “I was wondering if I’d ever get to do something like that with you,” he admits softly. “It’s just...you’re the only person whose ever made me feel safe and…” Emile smiles, untangling their bodies so he can lean up and press a gentle kiss to Virgil’s temple. 

“Me too,” He says, with that same clam tone he always uses. “Now should we have a shower?” His hand trails down to trace the cum on Virgil’s thigh with a light chuckle. The subtle movement has Virgil’s cock twitching again, his breath catching in his throat. “I really should make sure you’re all clean.”

“Yes...Yes please,” Virgil whispers, kicking the covers off and tugging Emile out of bed with him.


	20. Day 20: Daddy Kink: Lomile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor/Patient and age gap relationship in this chapter!

Logan has met Emile through therapy, he’d ended up in therapy at the age of 20 thanks to the inevitable mental breakdown any “gifted child” gets in their early 20s. Not that Logan is not a gifted adult, he graduated high school a year early and his grades remained impressive in college. It’s just it was never enough for him, or his parents, or his tutors; there was always _more_. Because someone with a brain that big and beautiful and an IQ that high can’t afford to waste it. 

All that pressure to keep going over and over again, it was a stress Logan couldn’t cope with. 

That’s how he met Emile, at the time his psychologist. They talked about his life a lot and he’d explain that all this control is suffocating, he’s always inside his own head and there’s simply no escape. He cannot escape himself. Emile always listened attentively, he was helpful in every situation and he always seemed to smile like he genuinely, _really_ cared. 

Logan did not fall in love with him, but he did like him quite a lot. Nothing was out of the ordinary for many sessions. 

But he took the advice given to him which essentially boiled down to: “Go and be twenty years old, Logan.” Which ended up with him bonding with his flatmates, and then attending an actual honest to god club for the first time in his life. He didn’t really get drunk, but he definitely found his head spinning somewhere between the cider and the whiskey. That was when things got... _strange_. 

Whilst he was leaning on the bar that evening, trying to get some sense of grip on the euphoria and the music and the flashing of the lights, he noticed a familiar face (a familiar head of curls, and freckled cheeks, a face of a man who looks younger than he is because he smiles far too much), and found himself gravitating towards it. “Emile?” he shouted through the crowd, the other man was definitely drunk and he grins nervously at Logan, his curls looking red under the clublights. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have approached him, but he looked so nice, wearing this tight white shirt and long skirt; in the long run he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. They danced together and Logan felt more adrenaline in his veins than any other moment in his life, Emile eventually put his hands on Logan’s hips and the other man felt his entire world dissolve with a creeping sense of how wrong and wonderful it feels to have someone’s hands on his body. Specifically, Emile’s.

Neither of them really knew how the night would end, but apparently it was with Logan being pushed up against the wall with his therapist kissing him somewhat firmly, the two of them gasping into each other’s lips, grinding their bodies against each other’s. 

They did not have sex. He isn’t sure why that felt important at the time, but they didn’t, Emile stepped back and shook his head. Not because he’s Logan’s psychologist but because he accurately identified that Logan is not sober enough for this. 

Their next therapy session was a little awkward. Logan tries to get through what is on his mind, before he glances out the door to quietly whisper “I’m not drunk now.” Emile swallowed nervously, his hand shaking as he held the pen to the notebook in his lap, avoiding Logan’s eyes. “Are there cameras in here?” The therapist hesitates, looking up to meet Logan’s eyes and finding himself startled by the desire in them. 

“No,” he finally whispers, and that’s all he gets before he has a lapful of Logan, the notebook getting discarded on the floor with his pen as the other man presses their lips together. It all feels so wrong, but discarding that simply finds Logan grinding down against him breathlessly, his movements rocking Emile’s body straight down to the pit of his stomach. His hands fumble with Logan’s belt and zipper, spitting on his hand before he wrapped it around the smaller man’s cock, jerking him quickly and messily, until he’s falling apart in his lap. 

He got a taste for it after that. They both did. 

Logan inevitably had to find a new psychologist, because they couldn’t keep this locked up forever, but they’d meet at bars and clubs, pretend that they’re strangers until that time came. When it did, everything became more real, it wasn’t just secret kisses and handjobs after that. 

The first time Emile invites him to his home, Logan spends the entire day shaking. He doesn’t know what to do or to expect, he’d never been invited to someone else’s home in this sense before. He takes a hint and does some preparation beforehand which leaves him wondering if losing his virginity is even worth it and then puts on his nicest shirt and tightest jeans and his best boots. 

Before this, their relationship had been quickly jacking each other off in club bathrooms or wherever else the opportunity would arise. 

But as Emile opens the front door and smiles at him there’s this sliver of familiarity and comfort that Logan had never felt in his life, a sense of safety and nervousness as he steps over the threshold and the door closes behind him. “I…” he goes to speak, but his words die, he doesn’t know what to say, and he looks down at the floor. “Thank you, for inviting me over.” Emile smiled at him with a comforting expression, cupping his jaw and kissing him slowly, languidly, but with a heat that has Logan’s body feeling like jelly as he yields to the kiss. 

They end up in Emile’s bedroom, predictably, but it’s not the fast and frantic heat Logan is used to at all. The elder man’s hands slide up his shirt and touch so much of his skin, squeezing and teasing and brushing over parts of him that he’d never really paid attention too before. Until he’s squirming and hard and begging to be touched. The amount of noise he makes makes his throat go hoarse by the end of it. 

Logan had never imagined losing his virginity, he had never fantasised about it and in all honesty he’d never even really thought about it. But there’s this feeling that hammers with his heartbeat and twists his stomach in knots as he stretches around Emile’s cock. Not of love, or even adoration but understanding and...completeness. Like his whole world had ground to a hale and now had no need to turn, because he’s okay here where time doesn’t pass. With Emile’s face buried in his neck, and his own legs wrapped around his partner’s back, a hand gripping the back of his thigh. 

He must’ve come about seven times before morning came around. Both of them chugging energy drinks and wishing that time would cease to progress. 

He felt like his entire body had been hit by a truck by the time sunrise came around. He ended up sleeping the entire day whilst Emile went to work, coming back to find Logan wearing his shirt and nothing else with a bowl of cereal in his hands. Emile is taller than Logan by a far bit, but Logan looks the epitome of the sort of student who manages to forget to eat and drink rather consistently, so the shirt basically hangs off of him like it’s attempting to be a very short dress. He smiles at Emile when he comes into the bedroom, and accepts the tired kiss, promptly before the other man falls fast asleep. 

When Emile wakes up, it’s to a fully cooked meal and the smell of cooked vegetables and herbs. He wanders in the kitchen to find Logan (still wearing his shirt, but now with underwear also) poking at vegetables in a pan, just in time for the meal to finish cooking. He finds it adorable, this small 20-year-old standing over whatever he could find in the cupboard’s of a man’s house that really, he barely knows. It feels domestic, it feels wholesome, and he leans down to press a kiss to Logan’s shoulder and thank him quietly. 

After dinner Emile drags Logan back to bed, lying back with the other in his lap, distantly reminiscent of the way he’d crawled into his lap that first time, except all that nervousness seems to have drained out of him, leaning down to kiss Emile with a force that is insistent and demanding. The therapist wraps an arm around Logan’s waist and flips their bodies around, grinding down against Logan, feeling him harden underneath him. He grips Logan’s wrists in his hands and pins them down against the bed, feeling a little tremble run through the smaller man’s body as his hips jolt up, seeking friction. “You look good in my clothes,” Emile mutters against his lips, his voice quiet but with this dangerous edge to his tone. “It’s driving me crazy, it’s like…” he trails off, shaking his head and leaning down to kiss him instead. 

“It’s like what?” Logan presses when they part next. Emile shakes his head. “Tell me, please.”

“It’s like I own you, seeing you in my clothes it’s something of mine on you, like you’re mine.”

“Do you like that?” Logan asks, not looking scared or unnerved. 

“I do,” he catches the grin on the dark-haired man’s lips in his own firm kiss, rocking his hips down against him. 

“Then you own me,” Logan gasps out. “I’m all yours,” he’s so desperate to get taken out of his own head, he’s desperate for someone else to take a hold of the reins, dissaperate that control he always has to have. He craves it. The grip on his wrist tightens before releasing, Emile practically tearing off Logan’s underwear. The movements are forceful, fast and possessive, and Logan thinks ‘finally,’ like this is somehow something he’d always wanted and never even realised. 

Emile stretches him open with hurried but careful movements, his eyes taking in the man underneath him and savouring every twitch and whimper and gasp. Logan does not move his hands from where they had been pinned, some quiet part of his mind feeling too numb to even consider doing anything that he hasn’t explicitly been informed to do. 

The taller man sinks into him, his body caging the smaller one beneath him, Emile’s eyes are dark and frantic as he growls out Logan’s name with the force of his thrusts. The student fears he may lose his mind somewhere along the lines, his own nails digging into the palms of his hands until Emile finds them and presses him into the bed, fucking into him over and over and over again. 

At some point he stopped being Logan, instead he felt smaller, his body felt too tired and weak but not in a bad way, the edges of his mind became simpler and quieter, instead submitting to the force of being fucked into like he’s prey. As if he is a rabbit, and Emile is some sort of wolf. When his teeth bite into Logan’s neck, he doesn’t cry out in pain, but shouts out a lustful moan, his body jerking. He says “please” so much like he knows exactly what he’s pleading for, but he doesn’t really, it’s not until it finally clicks that he’s holding back that he finally blurts out “Can I come?” Emile’s whole body almost stills, the air knocked out of him. But the smile on his lips turns mischievous in response, gripping the base of Logan’s cock as he fucks into him. 

“You’re going to have to ask nicer than that baby boy,” his voice sounds deeper somehow, like a shadow had passed over it. Logan’s mind grinds to a halt and he whimpers desperately, yielding under the hands on his body, restricting him, keeping him in place with no escape. It should feel suffocating, it should feel scary. It just feels like catharsis. 

Like relief. 

Like he’s finally the most free he could ever be. 

“Please, let me come,” he whimpers out, tears pricking in his eyes as his body aches. Emile doesn’t know how far he can push, they hadn’t talked about this sort of thing yet, so he caves in and jerks Logan’s cock with his movements, quick and easy until the other is coming over his shirt, his eyes rolling as he moans without restraint, gasping Emile’s name as tears streak down his cheeks. 

The elder man stills inside him, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Are you okay?” he asks, Logan makes a noise that could’ve been yes, his eyes unfocused as he tries to find Emile in the blur of his vision. 

“Can you…” Logan trails off, pushing the shirt up. “I don’t want you to go unsatisfied…” Emile blinks slowly, wondering what on earth is going through the other’s mind right now as he eases out of him. 

“I’m not unsatisfied just because I didn’t come, Logan,” He moves to sit down beside him. “I need to know you’re okay.” Logan looks out of it, trying to make shapes out of the room as the tears comes back. He curls up a little, shivering, the world slowly sinking back into his brain. All those worries and fears. His body aches. He feels cold. “What’s on your mind, what can I do to help?” Logan just shakes his head, wincing as all the points in his body that had felt hot feel now like cold spots. Emile exhales shakily and nods. “Okay, I’m going to need you to sit up,” he helps Logan up, pulling the blanket up to wrap around the other. He squeezes Logan's hands in his own. “Have you never done something like that before?”

“No, I’ve never…” he looks up at Emile, a hot flush on his cheeks. “I’ve never had sex before you.” The therapist stares at him for a long, hard moment, before he shakes his head. 

“Okay, different conversation for later,” he mutters, his voice coming out a little colder than expected. “The way you seemed so calm about it, I had assumed maybe you’d tried those sort of dynamics before, but...you weren’t prepared at all, that’s an oversight on my behalf.” He rubs his thumb against the palm of Logan’s palm, massaging it gently. “You’re experiencing sub drop Lo, the return to the present can be...difficult, and as neither of us really know how to help you personally in this situation, what I’m going to do is help you into the bathroom and run a bath; the warm water will help with the cold and the sensory effect will help you feel more comfortable, we’re also going to get some sugar and water in you to help ease the physical stress, okay?” Logan nods absently, leaning his head on his partner’s shoulder and nuzzling against him. 

Logan calms down eventually, it was a long hour for him to completely stop crying; but he’s scared, his brain had felt numb for a while and coming back with all these thoughts and feelings terrified him. Like a blockade had been put up and then ripped away, flooding the real world into him. 

Emile doesn’t bring it up, not wanting to distress him any further, so he waits until the next day to bring it up. “We need to talk about it, Lo, you don’t have to get upset or embarrassed, but if you do that’s okay too it’s just...I really thought you’d done it before, and I don’t understand why you wouldn’t have brought it up first? I should’ve known not to continue without knowing your boundaries and that’s on me but...you never mentioned you were a virgin.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Logan muttered. 

“It is important to me, because that means everything that you’ve done is with me, and I would know what’s too much for you, even if you don’t know it; on top of that I just...I feel like I should’ve made your first time more special.”

“It’s not a big deal to me though, I don’t...I didn’t abstain out of any sort of belief that sex is something special, I just didn’t have the energy to care about this sort of thing before I met you.” _‘You changed everything,’_ Logan thinks to himself silently, _‘you changed everything about me.’_

“But still, what if one day…”

“I don’t care about one day, I care about right now, I’m sick and tired of one day, I just want to live...I...I just want to live _now._ ” He doesn’t want to think about the future, not when he cares so greatly about a man eleven years his senior and _Jesus Christ_ his parents will _kill_ him. But he’s 20, he should get the right to make stupid choices and be a little bit fucking reckless, that’s the life that everyone else got to have; they got to make mistakes. Logan has never been allowed to make mistakes. “Don’t treat me like a child.” He says firmly. “I know you’re older and wiser or whatever but I didn’t get into this to be treated like a child, I got into it to be an adult on my own terms.” 

“I didn’t mean too...I wasn’t trying to, I just…”

“Can you please just shut up and _kiss me_?” Emile acquiesces, he kisses Logan softly and holds his face in his hands. When they pull away, Logan’s breathing is just a little bit more even. “Now, what else did you want to talk about?” 

“Safety, during sex, you don’t know your own boundaries and I certainly don’t know them, and...that’s something we can figure out together, but do you know what you like? Do you know how to tell if you’re struggling?” Logan nods silently. “Then let's sit down and talk a little bit shall we?” 

They talk for what feels like far too short for Emile and far too long for Logan. They talk about boundaries, they talk about safe words, they talk about the importance of the words “stop” and “no” and what exactly it was about yesterday that had Logan pushing himself. 

“I just enjoyed how it felt, having you in control, having you telling me what I can and can’t do it was like...nothing mattered at all, like...like you were going to take care of everything and there was nothing I needed to care about.” Emile nods as he listens. “I liked you being in control of me but when everything was over it all just crashed down at once, and I felt cold internally and externally, but I want to do it again.” 

“We can do it again, but we’re going to have to figure out what grounds you first, falling that deep into sub space with no prior knowledge of what that means for you is...not comfortable to say the least.” He sighs a little. “Okay, you like being out of control, that’s not all that surprising given the amount of stress you’re consistently experiencing and your…”

“Emile, I’m not your patient anymore, stop psychoanalysing me.” 

“Right, sorry.”

“So is there...anything specifically you like the idea of?” 

“I don’t know, I like pet names, it helps the...” he gestures loosely towards his own mind, “...and the sound of your voice too, that helps, when you were pinning me down, I enjoyed how that felt, and when you got a little rougher I enjoyed that too, I felt...like I had no choice in the matter which sounds horrible, doesn’t it? But not in a way that felt oppressive, I knew I could say no and you would stop, but...like I didn’t have to make a choice either, you were doing everything for me and it felt wonderful.” 

“Do you have any names for me you’d like to use? I don’t know if you’ve watched, say, porn or something and picked anything up.” Logan’s cheeks flush a little and he clears his throat, whispering something quietly. “Again, there’s no need to be embarrassed, it’s perfectly natural to have k…”

“Daddy,” Logan forces out of his throat, because somehow letting Emile finish that sentence was infinitely more mortifying than saying that word. “I found that to...elicit certain responses in me, I suppose you’d say because I’ve never really been cared for, it would make sense for me to look for a caretaker figure in my life.” 

“I...yes...that is exactly what I’d say, to be quite honest.” The two sit in silence for a moment. “Which is fine, and understandable and again, perfectly normal.”

“I know,” Logan mutters, feeling a little too hot. “Now can we…” Emile leans over and kisses him gently at first, long and slow with his hand resting beside Logan’s hip, and then he pushes the smaller man down onto the bed and crawls between his legs. Such simple movements and yet, Logan’s body feels like it’s on fire. 

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of you,” Emile muttered, his hands unbuttoning Logan’s shirt quickly, the other man sits up a little to have it pushed off his shoulders, before he sinks back down onto the bed, simply letting Emils’ hands touch his body. _Fuck,_ and the _way_ he touches him; it isn’t hard, or heavy, he doesn’t grab him and bruise him (although he knows that will come), it’s this feather-light sensuality that eases him into feeling so fogged up, twitching and gasping and jolting, his cock half-hard before he’s even got his pants off. All because Emile’s hands are so soft and his lips are sliding so soothingly against his own. 

The process of getting their clothes off takes more time than Logan really wants, by the time he’s free of his pants and underwear and he has Emile’s naked cock sliding against his own, he’s shaking with the desire to be fucked, to be touched _(to be loved)_ , and pleading quietly with soft whimpers. 

Emile stretches him open again, his fingers long and practised and curious, taking him apart bit by bit like he’s solving a puzzle, this curious look in his eyes that Logan has seen on his face when he’s solving equations. _He must be some sort of wondrous oddity to Emile as much as mathematics is to himself_ , he concludes. But in a different sort of way, there’s no frustration on his face, just this glimmer of experimentation and mischief. He fully intends to make Logan beg and the smaller man is well aware of this. 

So he does, he begs to be fucked, he loses his resolve and boxes away his humiliation and pleads like he’s starving and this is the only way he can be satiated. 

Emile presses his cock into Logan with a quick, sharp thrust, the slide of their bodies making them both moan, with relief, with _“more, please, more.”_

He fucks Logan carefully at first, his hands finding the other man’s wrists and holding him down into the mattress, but his movements are not too jarring, letting the other adjust beneath him to the feeling of being stretched open. Logan squirms a little, a whimper on his lips as he strains for a kiss and gets nothing at all. “Please,” he whispers, but Emile quirks an eyebrow, his cheeks flush with a distinct sense of nervousness in response to this action as he squirms with a shy embarrassment. “ _Daddy,_ please.” Emile kisses him firmly, dragging his hips back to push into Logan a little harder, his pace taking shape. There’s a point where...it must be the speed or the way he presses inside him...it changes the way his brain processes thoughts and that blockade builds itself up again. Logan whimpers “daddy,” so breathlessly it may as well be Emile’s name, because that’s all he thinks and hears in the process. 

His cock twitches against his abdomen, swollen and neglected, pre cum staining his stomach as he lets himself be fucked into over and over. Emile’s body pushes forward, so the other man is almost bent entirely in half, his knees up against his chest. He moans, and gasps and squirms, his back arches and his wrists ache under the weight of Emile’s body. Pleasure tears through him with each push, each time their hips meet. “Please, please, daddy let me come, I want to come…”

“Already?” Emile teases, nipping at Logan’s lip. “Can you come from just my cock baby boy?” Logan shivers a little, his brain sinking in on itself. That’s him, the helpless one, baby boy, even his name feels fake now. 

“I-I can try…”

“Hm?”

“I can try daddy,” he tries again with a slight inch more of conviction. Emile grins at him, their lips meeting again. Logan can hear Emile holding back too, the gasps and moans and praise he gives becoming more frequent and louder, more forceful somehow. Logan squirms, trying to push his orgasm closer, he wants to come for Emile. The frustration that he isn’t, that he can’t, winds him up more and Emile must’ve noticed because he stills a little, leaning up. 

“Are you okay sweetheart?” 

“I...I can’t…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, do you want a hand?” Logan nods weakly, a look on his face that is so far removed from his usual expression (stern, like he’s always trying to be strict), that Emile’s heart melts. He wraps an arm around his lover and half-carries him so that Logan is on top, and Emile is lying up against the headboard. He smiles up at Logan, one hand squeezing his thigh and the other wrapping around his cock as he fucks up into him. The smaller man gasps a little, rolling his hips with the movements. Something about being on top grounds him a little but the subspace is still there, just less intense, slowly giving him back a little more control. 

He doesn’t last all that long though, once Emile begins to jerk him off quickly, telling him how good he’s been, how proud of Logan he is, the other man falls apart fairly easy, cum dripping again Emile’s stomach and chest and hand. He smiles dazedly as his hips jolt into the other’s touch as he slowly comes down from his high. “Can you come on me?” He asks quietly. “I want to know how that feels. 

The elder man sighs a little laugh and nods, helping Logan lie back down before he kneels between the younger’s legs, touching himself in quick strokes, before leaning over his body. Emile growls out a low moan of Logan’s name as he comes over him, marking his chest and stomach and a little catches Logan’s face too. He milks himself through the orgasm with a groan of pleasure. Before finally exhaling shakily and moving up to kiss his partner gently. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better than last time,” Logan whispers softly. “I think being on top helped.” Emile nods and helps Logan up to prepare a bath. The younger trails a finger through the come on his skin delicately, entranced by it. 

“Do you like that?” 

“Being yours? _A lot.”_

If you’d asked Logan when he’d first started his therapy if this is where it would have ended, he might’ve been a little surprised. Time passes with the two of them together and he soon just sort of...forgets the more strange parts of their relationship. Yes, he’d ended up dating his therapist, fucking him even. He’d ended up in a relationship with a man eleven years older than him, but for the first time in his life Logan had found someone who understood him. He’d always struggled to connect with people his own age. At the age of fifteen he was doing taxes and working a part time job whilst getting amazing grades in education. He was overworked and stressed and too old to be twenty. 

Emile made him feel twenty years old. But he also makes him feel like he’s thirty. Mostly, he makes him feel _understood._


	21. Day 21: Dress-up: Remile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy surprises Emile

Remy stands nervously in front of the mirror in their bedroom, his hands twisting through the light material of the dress he’s wearing. It’s supposed to be a surprise but he gets the feeling that Emile knows something is up, or different, because he’d come home half an hour ago and Remy had insisted he stay downstairs a little while longer. 

He doesn’t really know why, he’s been ready for at least an hour. Remy categorically does not get nervous but as his gaze lingers on his reflection he can feel his hands shaking. Half of him wants to call it quits, just say he wasn’t feeling very well and needed a minute alone. But he’d spent so much money on this outfit and he knows Emile will like it. 

Emile likes absolutely _everything_ he does. 

But he looks so different. The eyeliner, the hours he’d spent on makeup, fumbling with all these different things that alone would not usually take him so long. His face looks different, it’s his face, but made up so intricately that the whole structure seems softer, more...gentle. And the little makeshift freckles he’d given himself on the recollection of Emile absentmindedly telling him freckles always look cute on a man. 

The dress is not heavy, it’s black, with a little white apron that matches the white thigh highs that are clipped just an inch below the hem of the skirt. The dress is not heavy, but it _feels_ heavy the longer Remy stares at himself. Also the underwear, white lace that covers almost nothing at all, is just as uncomfortable as the plug he’s squeezing inside himself. 

He’d had a long day, basically. He can’t give up now over the slightest anxiety. 

Remy opens the bedroom door and calls down to Emile, standing nervously in the doorway as he hears the steps creaking under his fiancee’s weight. The brunet screws his eyes shut like somehow it will make the anticipation hurt less, worried he’s about to start choking on his own heartbeat as he feels a presence stood in front of him. He hears Emile inhale sharply and slowly peaks through his eyelashes up at the blonde, who has several expressions crossing over his face, but _none_ of them are negative. 

“Hello,” Emile finally mutters, his voice coming out in the sort of rough that Remy is well aware of by now, it’s his ‘I have about five seconds of physical control left’ voice. Otherwise known as the ‘Remy is about to get fucked’ tone, as jokingly dubbed by their friends. “I don’t remember ordering room service,” he jokes lightly, his hands resting on his lover’s waist for a moment. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” Remy replies weakly, feeling like his legs are going to give up on him. The blond smiles down at him reassuringly, stepping into the bedroom and backing Remy up towards the bed, their lips joining in a kiss that isn’t fast, but definitely is not without promise either. Remy’s knees hit the bed and he sits down, Emile wastes no time pushing him backwards a little further, so that Remy’s body takes up the width of the bed and his lover can settle between his thighs, pressing down against him. 

The smaller man spreads his legs for the other’s body, shivering as Emile’s hand runs along the outside of his thigh, his fingertips sliding underneath the thin underwear and tugging, snapping the strap against his skin. The blond groans lightly at the way Remy’s body jolts, his hands sliding the skirt up and pulling back just to get a look at the other man, the skirt pooling around his waist as his cock twitches against the very thin panties that are hardly holding him at all. Emile’s fingertips trail against the heated skin, trailing down from the head of Remy’s cock down to his ass where he pushes gently at the plug fitting snugly inside him. 

“Fuck, you look so good,” Emile shakes his head, leaning down to kiss Remy with ferocity, unable to hold back any longer. He pulls back and slaps Remy’s thigh lightly “hands and knees,” Remy wastes no time obeying, scrambling to get into position as Emile leans over to grab some lube out of the drawer, unbuckling his own belt before pulling Remy's underwear down roughly to his knees. Emile lubes up his cock with one hand, easing the plug out of Remy’s ass with the other. He can’t resist squeezing the other man’s ass, exhaling shakily as he leans over him and guides his cock into Remy’s entrance, shivering as he presses into him. “All dressed up and pretty for me darling, that means so much for me, that you will do anything to please me.” He drags his hips back and then fucks into him with a smooth, swift movement. Remy gasps, his weight leaning down onto his forearms as he presses his ass back against Emile’s hips. 

“I-I’d do anything for you,” Remy gasps out on the next thrust in. “Anything.”

“So eager to please aren’t you? Desperate to be _fucked._ ” Remy gasps at the light growl to Emile’s voice. He loves it when his lover talks to him like that, it’s such a distinctive element of Emile’s personality that only _he_ gets to see and hear. He rocks his hips back with the next thrust, moaning as his cock bobs against his stomach. Emile’s hand wraps around him, his hand gripping Remy’s cock in his fist and stroking him in time to the long thrusts, enjoying the way the smaller man squirms beneath him. “Come on, let me hear those pretty noises Rem, otherwise we’re in for a very long night.”

“Y-Yes sir, I’m desperate for y-you-ah!” his whole body shakes with the force of the next thrust, Emile begins to pick up his speed a little, his hand working over Remy’s cock with the rhythm. “Fuck, please sir, fuck me, harder.” Emile does not really need telling twice, more than happy to chase the sensation. Remy hears his partner’s moans and it urges him further, fucking his ass back onto Emile’s cock with each thrust to help the other with the movements. His own muscles ache with the pressure and strain but he’s so lost in the sensations that it becomes background noise. 

“You’re so good for me baby, my pretty boy.” 

Remy gasps out Emile’s name, his forearms trembling. 

“All dolled up in an outfit that clearly states you’re mine.” 

_He feels like his head is spinning, he can feel heat pouring through his body._

“Waiting to be fucked by me, making sure you definitely get treated like the little slut you are.” 

_He whimpers, his hands fisting in the bed sheets beneath him._

“You craved being used by me so much you went and got an outfit just to make sure it was obvious.” 

_Remy’s eyes screw shut, his lungs heaving with the depth of his moans, his cock aching in Emile’s hand._

“Do you want me to come in you darling?” Remy nods frantically, he can hear the restraint in Emile’s voice, how gravelly it sounds, the force behind his words, his slams himself back in time to the thrusts, his shoulders and arms and back aching so deliciously. “Fuck, Rem!” Emile slams into him and Remy feels his cock twitch inside him, filling him with his come. Emile’s hand stills on his cock as his orgasm crashes over him, leaving Remy hanging on the edge, where he squirms with a pathetic whine of desperation. 

Emile leans up, pulling Remy up on his knees to lean back against him. “You held on for me,” his lips press to the smaller man’s neck, sucking gently before nipping at the skin. “I can feel how desperate you are,” Remy gasps as Emile squeezes his cock. “Good little whores get to come as a reward.” Remy’s eyes roll as Emile fists his cock, his hips jerking with the movements, the flush of heat curls through him quickly, his swollen cock aching as he gasps out. “Come for me darling.” 

His hips jerk and his thighs tense so fast that he almost cramps, his body jolting and his eyes screwing shut as come spurts over the bedsheets. Emile supports him, letting him lean back against him, exhaustion clear on his face. He can feel cum leaking out of him and he’s sure his makeup is smudged and his clothes are all rumpled; Remy feels like a hot mess, his heavy eyes prying open. 

“Are you okay darling?” 

Remy gives a weak grin, and with a hoarse voice, replies: “Never been better.”


	22. Day 22: Strength: Analogical

Virgil always wears baggy clothes, the entire time Logan has known him he wore exclusively baggy jeans and baggy shirts and that oversized hoodie that he never really seems to be out of; he’s an anxious person so Logan had been under the assumption that perhaps he was insecure about his body. 

He never quite expected Virgil to...well to look like one of those greek statues. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Virgil mutters, his words biting but his cheeks flushed as he crosses his arms over his chest. Logan’s eyes fixate on the bulge of his biceps and finds that his entire body has rooted to the spot, unable to stop mapping the contours. He opens his mouth to apologise, or say literally anything but by the time he’s met his friend’s eyes his skin is so flushed and all the words he’s ever known have simply been winded out of him. “Uh...you good there, L?” Virgil quirks an amused eyebrow, unsure how to really react to the expression on the other man’s face. “Mind if I get back to my bedroom?” He points past Logan to his bedroom door. Logan can’t quite remember what that is for a hot second, and by the time he does his mind is supplying some interesting thoughts. 

“Right, yes.” He steps to the side, tearing his eyes away to look down at the carpet, his face flushed right up to his ears as he clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on the spot. “Sorry I just...I’m not used to seeing you without your hoodie.” 

“Right,” Virgil chuckles, stepping forward, the movement makes Logan flinch somehow, his breath catching in his throat. The amused look on Virgil’s face lingers, shaking his head as he stands in front of Logan. “And why’s that?” Logan inhales so sharply he almost chokes, the blush deepening as he risks looking up from the floor. 

“I just wasn’t expecting…” his eyes trail from Virgil’s stomach and chest, over his collarbones and up to his face “...I don’t know.” He wants to touch the other man, a visceral and angry itch that he’s struggling to resist. He wants to know if those muscles can do anything else other than just look pretty. He must certainly have cabin fever, he’s been too long without being touched and now he’s struggling to keep his hormones in check. This is Virgil, his best friend, his flatmate, surely a lack of shirt wouldn’t flip his entire feelings sideways, that isn’t how that works... _right?_

“You don’t know? It’s not like you to get flustered, L.” The bastard is enjoying this, Logan realises, he can hear the smirk in Virgil’s voice, the teasing dripping off his tongue. “Actually I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get flustered over a shirtless guy.” 

“I’m not flustered,” the argument is both a falsehood and falling on deaf ears. “I...I don’t get flustered.” 

“Logan,” Virgil’s voice is so deep it makes him shiver. “Can you actually look me in the eyes for a moment?” The other man’s bright blue eyes meet Virgil’s, he knows he must be breathing irregularly because his friend seems to see everything he needs too in the way Logan looks right now. “You’re definitely flustered, I’m curious.” 

Curiosity is usually Logan’s job. “You look good, and it seems to be making me feel warm all over.” 

“Do you want me to do something about that?” The brunet’s eyes widen at the words, all that leaves his mouth is a quiet noise of disbelief. “I’m going to need something other than that, L, I need consent.” 

“Please,” his voice comes out like a whimper. Virgil laughs shortly, so he knows for certain he must look like a right state and he hadn’t even been touched physically in any way. The curling sensation of arousal is still present, and he isn’t really sure why; he had never had that sort of reaction to any other man. He’d seen Liam Hemsworth shirtless and still not found himself in the hot, flustered excitement that has his mind all in knots which he’s experiencing now. 

Maybe it’s just Virgil. This is someone he’s known for two years and never seen so much as lacking a hoodie. Maybe it’s a longing he hadn’t realised he had until he stood in front of him. 

Virgil’s hand cupping his jaw has his body tensing, inhaling sharply as he feels the warmth and closes his eyes in anticipation, melting into the simple touch. He hears that short, disbelieving and amused laugh that sounds like a quick exhale of air once more, the push of air ghosting his lips. His own lips part before Virgil’s mouth is even on his, his body stumbling as a strong arm wrapped around his waist and pulls him close. 

Logan whimpers, yielding almost immediately, allowing Virgil to guide him until he’s pressed against the hallway wall, hands exploring underneath his shirt. “How attached to this shirt are you?” Virgil asks against his ear, nipping at the lobe. 

“Neither here nor there,” Logan manages out, before gasping at the feeling of tongue on his skin. He feels the grin Virgil gives as he grips the fabric and pulls, the shirt rips open, buttons coming loose, and Logan swears his knees are going to give out.

 _‘If that’s what he can do to a shirt, what can he do to me?’_ he thinks weakly, the material hanging off his upper arms as Virgil’s hands press against his ribs, his tongue and mouth moving to his collarbone. The hands finds Logan’s belt, threading it through the buckle and then left to dangle open as his friend’s hands make quick work of opening the front of his trousers. 

The brunet shivers as a hand pushes into the front of his boxers, Virgil’s fingers dipping between his folds and rubbing at his clit in slow circles. Logan moans out the other man’s name, his head thudding back against the wall behind him as he spreads out his legs a little more. Virgil’s hands retreat, pulling the pants and underwear down Logan’s legs, stripping him out of any remaining clothes he had as he sinks to his knees. A hand grips the back of Logan’s thigh and hitches it over Virgil’s shoulder, tilting his head up between the other man’s thighs as he sucks lightly at his swollen clit, his tongue running over the sensitive nub. 

The blue-eyed man gasps out Virgil’s name, his hand coming down to tug at the purple hair and brush it out of the other man’s eyes, their gazes meeting as Logan whimpers, grinding as best as he can into the brown-eyed man’s mouth. Two fingers pressed into his wet cunt, sliding in and out of him with thrusts that increase in pace over and over. Breathless, Logan gasps, rutting his hips into the administrations on his body, until he swears his body is going to collapse. 

His hips stutter into the touch, a loud moan of Virgil’s name on his lips as he feels his walls clench around the fingers pressed into him. For a moment Logan feels extremely lightheaded, then the touch ceases and an arm wraps around his waist. “Are you okay there starlight?” The nickname seems to knock him back to the present, staring at Virgil’s calm grin, his lips wet with spit and other bodily fluids. Logan pulls him into a kiss, his nails digging in against the firm biceps that hold onto his body. His hips push forward, feeling the other man’s hard cock pressing into him.

The heat that rolls through his core flares up again at the sensation, his hand falling down to the button on Virgil’s jeans. The purple-haired man seems to take a hint and leans back so that Logan can concentrate on freeing his cock, a grunt of pleasure on his lips when a hand finally wraps around him. “Fuck me, please.” Logan gasps out. The stronger man doesn’t need telling twice, pushing his underwear and jeans down his hips and then gripping the back of Logan’s thighs, lifting him up. The other man wraps his legs around his friend’s hips, holding onto him as Virgil guides his cock into him. Logan inhales deeply as he stretches around the other man, allowing himself to be pushed into the wall. When Virgil drags out his hips and then rolls them into the other man, he thuds against the wall with the movement, but this only increases his arousal, a gasped moan ripping from his throat, encouraging more. 

The pace increases quickly, Virgil burying his face in Logan’s neck as he holds him up, fucking into him over and over. Logan’s nails grip into the other man’s back, feeling the muscles that move there with the thrusts and strain of keeping him pinned to the wall. Virgil moans against his neck, a mixture of cusses and Logan’s name as he presses into him over and over, a distinct animalistic heat coiling through him. 

The feeling of being pinned to the hallway wall, fucked into it, triggers an intense euphoria as Logan’s breath is repeatedly knocked out of his body, trembling as his thighs grip his partner as best as he can without minimising the amount of movement Virgil can put in. 

“Can I cum in you?” Virgil asks, voice rough. 

“Please,” Logan gasps out. His head knocks into the wall with a particularly hard thrust, and he can hear Virgil’s moans against his neck as the other man gets closer. A high-pitched whimper crawls from his lips as Virgil presses into him, moaning out his friend’s name, his cock twitching inside of the other man as his thrusts begin to calm a little. 

Logan feels a little light headed as he’s let down to the ground, cum leaking out of him. Virgil chuckles lightly against his ear as he grips onto the stronger man for support, legs trembling as they try to hold his weight. “Do you want me to keep going on you?” Virgil asks gently, Logan shakes his head. 

“I need to pee,” he mutters absently. “I’m okay thank you.” His eyes focus a little and he smiles, looking a little dazed. “I don’t think I’m going to walk straight for a week.” Virgil laughs at this and Logan becomes distinctly aware of the fact he’s stood naked in the hallway, his arms crossing self consciously over his stomach as Virgil’s eyes run over him. 

“Don’t like it when the tables are turned?” The other man teases. 

“Shut up.” 

Virgil shakes his head and wraps his arm around Logan’s waist, lifting him up, the brunet squeaks in surprise followed by a loud laugh as he grips onto Virgil and lets him carry him to the shower.


	23. Day 23: Sex under the influence: Remile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for cocaine use!

Remy is not an addict, that feels important. He drinks a lot, he smokes far too many cigarettes, but in terms of anything higher than good old mary-jane he knows how to take care of himself. He knows his limits, he knows how to stop. He indulges in a habit that he very rarely takes part in. 

The first time he’d told Emile that he’s done cocaine, that he does cocaine, the other man had thought he was joking; his heart had thundered in his chest because Remy doesn’t look like an addict. Remy doesn’t shake, he doesn’t get angry or insult him, he doesn’t look like when he’s used to people who do drugs being presented as. 

Remy is happy, he’s excitable, he’s happy when he’s sober and he’s happy when he’s drunk, he loves life and does well in his education, everything about him is the antithesis of the coked-up addict that Emile sees in TV shows and movies. But he was serious, he cracked a grin and said “no, I’m not joking, I’ve done cocaine, I do cocaine, I’ve done _a lot_ of drugs in my life.”

He’s barely twenty-one, so Emile does not want to ask how young he’d started, but he does, because that too feels important. 

And he gets the truth and only the truth in response. Remy’d started doing drugs at the age of sixteen, he’d skipped over weed and went straight to psychedelics, then came back to weed at a later date, then he’d tried ecstasy (“It was sort of boring to be honest”), then harder things he’d ghosted over very briefly, for a moment there is some semblance of regret in his eyes as he shakes his head and then shrugs. “...I eventually just came back to coke, because it does what I need too, I don’t need to do too much as long as I don’t bombard my system with it, usually it’s helpful for deadlines.” He gives a lopsided grin that looks a little sheepish. “...and sex, it’s great for sex.” 

Which is _probably_ how Emile ended up in this situation. 

“Are you sure?” He asked for the thousandth time. “It’s just...you’re going to be high, I’m going to be sober and…”

“You have my entire consent Emmy,” Remy deadpans with an amused expression “I’m not going to be doing a lot, so nothing should go wrong, but I will have more energy than usual, are you sure you’re going to be okay?” 

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” Emile gestures loosely to the red bull cans that are piling on his desk. “I’m ready when you are.”

He’s never seen anyone snort cocaine before. He’s seen it in TV shows and movies and music videos but...not in real life. Remy has a tiny metal pipe that he uses, and it’s such a quick and fast movement that Emile suddenly understands how people can just go through their lives getting away with doing it. Remy wrinkles his nose a little, before rubbing it a little. After a few moments, he grimaces. 

“I’ll never get used to the taste,” he sighs, flopping back on the bed before offering his boyfriend a grin. His dark curls flop back against the pillowcase. “Do you want to start before it kicks in?” Emile nods and leans down to kiss him sweetly, his body sliding between the smaller man’s hips as he holds himself up. The brunet’s hands come to Emile’s hips, sliding up his shirt a little to trace the warm skin underneath, tasting the shiver this gives on his tongue. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes for the drugs to kick in but he knows when they do there’s a blur in the passage of time. He rocks his hips up lightly against the blond’s, a gasping whimper on his tongue between their heated kisses. Emile’s lips trail from his own, to his neck and collarbones, his hands pushing up Remy’s shirt, pulling away only to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the carpeted floor. 

Remy makes a small noise of plea as Emile’s hands run over his body, his lips making their way down him under his hands are tugging off the other’s jeans and boxers, leaving Remy looking up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

There’s no time for teasing today, Emile knows this, he gets the feeling he won’t have the energy for it either, his head dips between Remy’s thighs to run his tongue over his little cock, his hands gripping his thighs as he begins to suck at the bundle of nerves, his head moving with the touches. Remy whines above him, his body feeling infinitely more sensitive than usual as he grinds his hips into the touch. 

Emile knows by now the movements, the reactions, this whole scene he’s done a million times. But as the drugs kick in, Remy’s usual noises and twitches and the words he says become different, his movements are jerkier and more authentic, the noises he makes must bleed through the walls with their ferocity, his whole body trembles when he cums, jerking against Emile but not stilling, not stopping. Emile’s jaw is already aching but he continues and slides two fingers into Remy’s soaked cunt, fucking his fingers into him. 

Remy’s cunt spasms around his fingers as he cums again, leaking fluid down his ass and onto the bed. 

Emile’s forearm is already aching as he pulls out his fingers and moves back up Remy’s body to kiss him. The other man kisses him back in languid movements, grinding himself shakily against Emile’s body. 

There’s a hint of discomfort in Emile’s stomach, he can see how out of it Remy looks, but reminds himself that this is what the other man wants, that he’d given consent. 

He exhales shakily and tugs his shirt over his head, leaning down to pull a box from under the bed. Remy shivers a little, his hand coming out to squeeze Emile’s arm, desperate for the touch, for the movement, anything. 

He can feel how hard his heart is hammering in his own chest. 

The blond rids himself of his jeans and he slides on the strap-on, tightening up the straps and ripping open a condom wrapper to slide over the length of the cock. He crawls back over Remy’s body, before rubbing the cock against his wet cunt and sliding into him in a quick, fast movement. 

The curly-haired man gasps sharply, his nails raking into the other’s skin so hard that Emile flinches, but continues to fuck into him. 

This time it takes a little longer, the repetitive quick and hard movements jerking the entire bed; the headboard thuds against the wall as Emile fucks Remy until he cums. The other man’s body shakes, his back arching as his eyes roll from the pleasure. 

Somewhere after the fourth orgasm he takes a break to chug down a red bull, and instead lets Remy lazily grind against him. For a moment he actually worries the other is going to pass out, but he just can’t sit still. He squeezes Emile’s arm, forearm, hips, stomach, fidgeting constantly before he finally seats himself in Emile’s lap and rides him instead. 

The blond squeezes Remy’s hips as he fucks himself down onto his cock. He’s always marvelled at just how...lithe and flexible the other man is, his movements are always so fluid as he rolls his hips, his body leaning back so he can watch Emile’s cock filling him up over and over. Emile’s hand finds Remy’s little cock and strokes it quickly, pulling him over the edge for the fifth time. 

By this point the other is certainly sensitive and collapses forward onto Emile’s chest, breathless and squirming with the cock still pressed inside him. 

When the effects of the drug start to wear off and Emile can see the crash happening in real time, Remy’s body becomes heavier. He lays the other man down and pulls the covers over him, wrapping up his body in the warmth. 

Remy’s entire body feels...strange. The sensitivity starts to return in full force and he spreads his legs a little because even the slightest brush against him feels too intense. His heavy eyelids close and what had been a minor ache becomes a feeling that his entire body had been hit by a truck. He winces a little, grimacing as he prises his eyes open to look at Emile. 

Then the emotional toll comes, creeping up on him, he screws his eyes shut again. That buzz of energy and surge of dopamine fries out and he grasps Emile’s arms with a distinct sort of plea as tears fill his eyes. Emile discards the strap-on on the floor and moves under the covers to let Remy bury his face in his lover’s neck, clinging onto him. 

This was the worst part, but Emile isn’t entirely sure he’d enjoyed any of it permanently. 

He didn’t like seeing Remy like that. He’s already confident and energetic and it just seemed like all this could really do is hurt him. And now he’s crying, and Emile barely knows what to do or say, so he just says that everything’s okay, that he’s here, that he loves him, that he’s wonderful, that everything will be alright. 

Remy eventually falls asleep. 

Emile still doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to have learned from this. He tolerates drugs, and neither hates them nor likes them. But this particular drug does not make him happy, that much is for sure; he’s never minded Remy smoking around him, but somehow the divide between knowing that Remy does other drugs and actually seeing him doing it, was a lot bigger than he’d thought. 

He’d never thought “I don’t want him to do that again,” in his life, he’d never been that sort of boyfriend that demands someone stops doing something that makes them happy. But the sick sense of uneasiness prevents him from sleeping, and he fears that’s the sort of boyfriend he’s about to become.


	24. Day 24: Soft/Sleepy Sex: Remus/Emile

Remus wakes up feeling warm. The slight sweaty sort of heat as his bare skin sticks to the sheets and the person he’s utterly wrapped around. He pries his eyes open tiredly as he adjusts to the feeling. Right, of course, this wasn’t his room or his bed. 

He’d slept in Emile’s bed last night, in his home, they’d done a lot more than sleep. A tired sort of grin brushes his lips as he lifts his head to study the body underneath him. Emile’s dark hair is messy and frizzy, stark against the white pillowcase, his freckled cheeks flushed with warmth and his own slumber. Remus wonders absently how he’d managed to get someone so beautiful, or kind, or the polar opposite of everything he is, in his life. He’d do anything to be loved by this man over and _over_ again. 

He leans over the other man to grab some chewing gum out of his pocket, chewing it for a few minutes before wrapping it up in its wrapper and discarding it. Then he leans over to kiss Emile gently, the other man stirs slowly, a smile pulling at his lips as he returns the kiss. “Good morning,” Emile mutters against his lips, sinking into the pillow as Remus pulls away. His large hand comes up to cup Remus’ jaw, his thumb brushing over the stubble of his cheeks as he grins up, half-awake. 

“Good morning,” Remus replies, feeling just a little bit giddy. “You look pretty in the morning,” this is nothing less than the truth, because Emile _does_ look pretty in the morning and he looks pretty all the time. But there’s something especially wonderful about the sheets tangling around his legs and his hair being a mess, his eyes squinting bleary-eyed from tiredness and his lack of glasses. The sunlight pours over his body and Remus can’t resist tracing the stretch marks on his stomach with his fingertips. 

“You look pretty too,” there’s a fondness in his tone as he looks up at the smaller man, his hand guiding Remus back into a kiss. “You’re always pretty.”

“Rich words coming from you.” 

“Mhm.” 

Their lips part against each other’s, tongues brushing against one another’s. Remus leans his body against Emile’s, feeling all of that soft skin against his own; he loves how that feels, those points of contact that make him feel so whole and alive and complete. It’s not something he’s felt many times in his life but he’s glad he’s feeling it now. 

When he pulls back, the other man’s cheeks are flushed and he blinks rapidly up at Remus with a quiet noise on his lips. Remus chuckles in response, leaning down to nuzzle against the other man’s neck before nipping ever so slightly at the skin, laughing breathlessly at the noise of surprise Emile gives before pulling back.

Remus has never been shy, or bashful, or unable to ask for something, he’s always been confident and a curious person. Emile makes him feel shy, the little look of embarrassment in his eyes as he cups his mouth to silent any of his pretty noises, or the way he bites his lip not knowing what to say. But they don’t make him feel insecure, just... _shy,_ like this is something much more special than he’d ever even looked for. And he wants to treat it with delicacy. 

He kisses Emile again, his hand trailing up the other’s stomach and over his chest. The taller man gasps into his lips, his back arching into the touch. He trails his hand back down, his hand resting on his partner’s bare hip as his thumb ghosts lightly over his lower stomach. “Are you okay?” He asks against his lips. “What do you need?” he adds. 

“You,” Emile replies simply, his eyes staring up at him through the morning sunlight and sleep. “I just want...need... _you_.” That doesn’t really answer the question but it does make Remus laugh lightly against his lips. 

“You have me,” Remus hums, his thumbnail scratching very, incredibly lightly against his lover’s skin. “What do you want?” Emile makes a small noise of protest, tilting his head to the side with light embarrassment. Again, it makes the smaller man laugh quietly, not in a teasing way, but one that genuinely says he’s enjoying himself, enjoying his partner. He takes pity and presses a firm kiss to Emile’s temple whilst his head is tilted to the side, moving his fingers inward to ghost over Emile’s cock. 

The hand covering Emile’s face moves away enough for Remus to catch the sharp inhale of air in time to Emile lifting his hips a little, wanting more pressure. He finds his lips, kissing him gently, softly, far too soft for this situation before their foreheads lean together and Remus wraps his hand around Emile’s cock, jerking him slowly at first, teasing him to full hardness. 

He wants to commit every sigh of pleasure, every hitched breath, every shiver to memory as their kisses interwove with the movements. Catching each other’s lips between the quiet moans Emile gives. 

Fuck, he’s so pretty. Genuinely pretty too. Emile can be a lot of things, he can be hot, sexy, alluring but right now all Remus can think is that he’s so _pretty,_ tiredly pushing his hips into Remus’ hand and gasping out his arousal. There’s a simple sense of feeling honoured that he gets to see this man like this, especially knowing how much it means to Emile. This isn’t some one night stand with a guy who slept with a hundred other men before him and probably will never remember his name. 

_This is Emile._

His boyfriend, somehow, how the fuck that happened he can never wrap his head around. 

If he hadn’t been living it, Remus doesn’t think this is ever something he could have imagined. 

He leans down to kiss him firmly, stroking Emile through the slowly intensifying emotions, swallowing the gasps and moans as they become more condensed and increased, he nips ever so slightly at Emile’s bottom lip and revels in the whimper this gives him. 

Remus feels his partner’s body tense up, and leans back to watch the euphoria on Emile’s face, euphoria that _he_ gave him. He traces the image of Emile reaching his orgasm in his mind as cum spills over his hand and the other man’s stomach, stroking him through the waves until he’s relaxing into the bed. 

Emile looks more tired now than when he’d first woken up, bringing a hand up to comb his hand through his own hair with this wide grin on his lips. “I could get used to this,” he whispers, voice soft but dry. 

“You should,” Remus hums, leaning down to kiss him gently. “I’m more than happy to provide.” Emile doesn’t doubt that for a moment at all.


	25. Day 26: Secret Relationship: Remy/Remus

It’s the evening after finishing high school. Students are crowding a summer street party, many drunk, others likely to end the night running from police cars. Remy is sat on a wall watching his best friends shout at each other through laughter as he brings a bottle of cider to his lips; Remus takes a seat on the wall beside him, shouting teasing insults at his twin brother as the twin in question trips over his feet. 

The group of them tear away from people they barely know to crash into Remus and Roman’s home; their parents had let them have the house to themselves for the next two days on the premise that _nothing_ gets broken and an ambulance _doesn’t_ have to be called. 

Remy kicks off his boots and flops down on the couch, his mess of brown hair untangling as he tugs out his hair tie and relaxes into the couch. He closes his eyes for a moment, just listening to the laughter, before Roman calls for a drunken round of stupid party games they’d played over a million times. But it never loses its charm, they always learn something new about one another, and they always laugh whilst doing it. 

They land, eventually, on seven minutes in heaven, the only rule being that (quite obviously) if Remus spins and it lands on Roman, or vice versa, then they spin again. From there it's a free game, most of the time nothing actually happens in those seven minutes and people just sit down in the closet and talk, rolling their eyes at the speculations that’ll follow them for at _least_ five more days. 

Remy is very drunk when the bottle lands on Remus, and he grins the way he always does and declares that Remus will _never_ be the same man again; it’s all words, just teasing, and nobody is really expecting them to make out in that closet. Maybe a quick kiss, but they’re all those sort of people who don’t really think twice about kissing or cuddling a friend. 

Then Remus is in that closet with him, a head taller, his pitch black hair falling into his wild, lined eyes and Remy can’t resist it. Maybe it’s because he’s drunk and the other is so close, but he pulls him down into a kiss, his lips parting, their tongues brushing. Remus’ hands grip his waist but he doesn’t pull away, gasping into the smaller man’s lips. They’re drunk, they’re teenagers, it’s hormones. 

They both pull away at the one minute to go mark and Remy mutters out something of an apology, his cheeks flushed as he stares up at the other man. Remus grins down at him, leaning down to kiss him firmly, his hand sliding between Remy’s legs just briefly, but enough for the other man to have to tug his shirt down before he walks out. Like it was some sort of promise Remus was giving him. 

At the end of the evening, Remy passes out on their couch, everyone but Roman and Remus makes camp on the living room floor. He wakes up in the morning to a glass of water, some aspirin, chewing gum and Remus. He takes the aspirin and chews the gum and then takes Remus’ hand, letting him lead him upstairs to his bedroom. “How quiet can you keep?” Remus whispers against his ear. 

“Quiet enough,” Remy replied, a shiver running down his spine as he’s pressed against the door, tilting his head up to kiss the heated kiss, letting Remus grind his hips into him. “Are you sure?” Remy asks, nervously. 

“I’m sure,” Remus pulls back a little “You?” Remy nods quickly and pushes the other man towards his bed, clambering onto his lap. 

That’s how Remus’ hand ended up around both of their cocks, jerking them both off until Remy is biting into Remus’ skin to keep him from crying out the other man’s name. 

He lies down on the bed and catches his breath, running a hand through his longer, knotted hair with a sense of incredulity. “We should probably keep this between us,” he comments. 

“Oh definitely, they’re such gossips.” Remus stands up to wipe off his cum-stained body and tuck himself back into his jeans. 

So they don’t tell any of them, half expecting it to be a one-time situation in which a hot mixture of euphoria and hormones made interesting emotions. But then that became part of the fun, the silence, the sneaking around. What was 18-year-olds having a bit of fun becomes a competition. 

In hallways, in club bathroom toilets, in a storeroom closet, in Remus’ bedroom or Remy’s flat, even under the table at dinner. It was all a dare to see how long and how far they could push it. 

They’re twenty-one years old, and Roman now has his own flat that he shares with Patton. They throw a party of which is oddly reminiscent of the time they graduated. Remy is not drunk, Remus is never sober anymore, but he is also not trashed. The two of them share quick looks across the room, and Remy declares he needs the toilet. He waits in the hallway for all of five minutes before Remus is shoving him into the bathroom, his back pressed against the locked door as the other man sinks to his knees. Remy bites down on his own hand as Remus sucks him off, trying to keep quiet as he shoots his load down the other man’s throat. 

He isn’t all that successful in keeping quiet. Remus is very good with his mouth. 

It’s not really until he’s opening the bathroom door a fair few moments later to see a rather amused Patton waiting to actually use the toilet that he actually knows that. 

Two whole years and now their cover’s blown, they’re actually approaching three years now. 

Do we have an anniversary? Remy thinks to himself. Or is that too not-us? 

“I-uh…” he starts, trying to find any explanation. 

“Yeah we already knew Rem, can I use my bathroom now?” They both step to the side to let the blond brush past them into the bathroom. Remy’s face is very red, whilst his friend is trying not to laugh. 

“It’s bound to happen eventually,” the taller pats Remy on the back. “Now come on, I’ve got drinks to...drink.” 

As it turns out, yes everyone already knew something was going on between them. Virgil had estimated at about six months, whilst Roman around eight, so at least they managed a whole year in before people started putting two and two together; although, there were some shattered egos that neither of them are nearly as secretive as they think.


	26. Day 28: Semi-Public/Public: Logince

Logan feels the wind getting knocked out of his body as he’s pressed against the hallway wall, his hands scrambling against the body that has pushed him against it. “We’re going to get caught,” he gasps out against the lips imposed to his own, before whimpering as Roman’s hips press flush against his. “Roman we’re...ah, _shit!”_ Roman grinds his hardening cock against the other man’s, a drunken taste on his tongue as Logan reciprocates the movement. 

“It’s a house party Lo, fucking in a corridor is practically in the manifesto,” then he bites down on his boyfriend’s bottom lip so hard that the brunet can’t stifle the moan, or the way his hips jerk. Roman makes a small noise of pleasure in return, his hands going to Logan’s belt as he drops to his knees. The other man stares down at him incredulously, his cheeks flushed as he glances down the corridor to the door that could open at any time, before his attention is preoccupied with the wet heat of Roman’s mouth. 

Logan moans, his hands gripping Roman’s hair as his head falls back against the wall, trying to focus solely on getting himself off as quickly as possible as the other’s tongue and lips and throat work it’s magic. His anxiety prickles, and his gaze glances from Roman to the door once more, a frustrated sound on his lips as he screws his eyes shut and concentrates. 

They can both still hear the music from the living room, Logan briefly runs in his head how fast he can dart to the bathroom if that door opens, and then tells his brain to shut up, chasing the pleasure instead. 

His orgasm hits hurriedly, and he shifts his cock in and out of Roman’s mouth, gripping his hair as he comes down his throat. A sense of relief passes through him as his boyfriend pulls off and he can tuck himself back into his underwear, fastening up his jeans and belt. “ _Never_ again,” he scolds, Roman just grins up at him from his knees. 

“And what about me?” The redhead asks with a teasing tone, leaning back on his knees to squeeze his own cock. Logan, again, glances over at the door at the end of the hallway before cursing under his breath and tugging Roman to his feet, dragging him to the bathroom. He presses the other man up against the closed door and kisses him with a fervent desire for this to be over with as soon as possible, dropping to his knees. 

The toilet door lock is broken, so Roman just wedges it closed with his body. 

Logan frees Roman’s cock and sucks at the head, his hand wrapping around the base of the other’s cock, wasting no time in setting a quick, fast rhythm; his only goal is getting Roman to come, no teasing or fucking around. A sense of anxiety is tripping him up but at the same time the idea of someone walking in, of being caught...is exhilarating. 

He hears Roman moan his name shamelessly, clearly nowhere near as invested in not getting caught as Logan is, his hips jerking just a little to increase the stimulation. The music is loud, but if anyone were to walk into the hallway beyond this door, there’s no way they’d miss the sounds of Roman’s moans, or exactly who is causing them. Again, it’s enticing, and _terrifying_. 

Logan uses his free hand to tug Roman’s jeans and underwear down a little bit, moving his fingers to press just behind Roman’s balls, his fingertips rubbing against the little spot and savouring the gasps this gives. Whilst the other man seems to take longer than Logan had, after a few minutes his hips are bucking into Logan’s mouth with a moan so loud that it had to be on purpose. He definitely is not usually so loud. ‘ _He really does want to get caught, the shameless little bastard,’_ Logan thinks to himself as he swallows the come that leaks over his tongue. 

As he finishes milking Roman through his orgasm, he pulls away, his lips slicked with spit and precum as he wipes his mouth off on the back of his hands and moves to stand up. The two rest a moment, before Logan shakes his head. “ _Now,_ never again.” 

The smile Roman gives tells him just how well that demand will be met.


	27. Day 29: Shared Emotions: Royality

Roman met Patton when he was 25 years old but he feels like he’d known the other man his entire life. He had, in some way, through feeling Patton’s heart beat in his own chest, feeling his sadness and anger and frustration. He’d feel the coldness on his skin, and the heat of summer so unbearably that he’d spend almost all summer lounging in front of the air con. He’d felt everything Patton had his entire life, and Patton had felt everything he had too. 

Which meant there isn’t really ever a private moment. 

He’d felt everything, and enjoyed everything; so when they first met it was less a distinct feeling of a stranger who will be important, and more of a _“there you are, I’ve been looking for you my entire life.”_ When you feel everything a person does you understand them on their most intimate level, and Patton was everything he’d expected. He is bouncy and bubbly and has this mess of blond curls that never wanted to be tamed, he is a baker too, with this smile that looks like it had never seen or known or understood sadness; Roman, of course, knows that it has. 

They met coincidentally, Roman had an audition later that day and had called into the new bakery that had opened up around the corner from his flat. Patton had been juggling cups of coffee, had just about placed them down, turned on his heel and collided with the brunet at a force greater than terminal velocity. Roman felt like a puzzle piece had slid into place. Like his entire body was swimming in this larger-than-life euphoria. “It’s you,” he’d whispered incredulously. 

“It’s you,” Patton had replied, with this disbelieving smile. 

Roman still had to go to his audition, but he vows to meet Patton when he finishes work. And he did, they spent the evening together and all those wonderful emotions and sensations he’d felt second-hand and often at inopportune moments, he got to feel for real. 

And it was... _intense._

When the time had inevitably come that the two had to face that their lives were not entirely private and just...accept that fact, it had been a usual case of one feeling what another is feeling. But not really _engaging_. Roman couldn’t really put his life on hold every time he felt a spike of arousal that wasn’t his own, and neither could Patton. They learned how to deal with that issue separately.

But together there’s no avoiding that. It’s an exploration, a discovery that neither had really thought about before. That they’d be feeling their own feelings and their own touch, then each other’s too. How that would feel, what that would be like.

He’d kissed Patton first, of course, pressing carefully into this slow rhythm, their lips parting and moving against each other’s slowly, their tongues brushing against each other’s. There was no demand or need and in some ways Roman’s urge to pull the other closer, to feel his smaller body press against his own, was not sexual, it was just an incompleteness he needed to satiate. He wanted, too greatly, to feel like he is one with this person. 

But Patton yields against him and presses to his body and tugs him into his flat with desperation on his tongue. Roman knows that maybe they’ve both been waiting and thinking and now it’s just... _bodies,_ he’s always known Patton’s soul, the bones of who he is. Now he just needs to learn his body too. 

He ends up on Patton’s bed with the other man’s weight on his hips, staring at someone whose face he’d known hours and whose heart he’d known since he was born. It doesn’t feel like sex with a stranger, it just feels... _whole._ Like he’d waited his entire life for this moment as Patton’s hands slide up his shirt and press against his ribs, making him laugh, making him squirm, then move over his nipples, making him moan. 

The blond pulls his own shirt over his head, Roman’s joining it on the floor as their lips meet again, and his hands slide up the other man’s body to map out every dip and curve, every sharp edge, every spot that makes him gasp and moan and twitch. His palms press against Patton’s spine and then traces his nails right down to his lower back, sliding beneath his waistband to squeeze at his ass gently. 

He can feel the weight of Patton’s body bearing down on his own as he tilts his head into the kiss, revelling in the slide of their lips together as he squeezes again, and feels Patton’s entire body move with the deep breath he takes in, pressing his hips down against Roman’s. And he feels that too, he feels how Patton’s heart hammers, the jolt of arousal that runs through him with every squeeze, he feels how his body shudders not just externally but right down to the pits of his own stomach. When he grinds down against him, Roman doesn’t just feel the hardness of Patton’s cock, but all the feelings it brings him inside too. 

It’s a pleasure like no other as their bodies line up, grinding their hips against each other. Patton’s hand slides down his bare chest to pull his belt free from it’s fastening, popping open the button and sliding down the zipper. Roman doesn’t need to look down to watch, but he does, barely computing how much has managed to change in a day. 

He’d felt this before. Patton’s excitement, his lust, he’d felt it distantly and across signal waves that no science can decode. Looking up and seeing it on his face is a whole other thrill, maybe because at last, finally, he’s the cause of it. His own hands make some quick work of his soulmate’s jeans, letting them both shuffle around a little to get out of what’s left of their clothes. Roman laughs a little breathlessly as Patton’s lips meet his own, his skin feeling like electricity is running over the surface as their naked bodies grind against each other. 

The well of emotion opens up inside him as Patton gasps against his lips (his Patton, his soulmate). He grinds up against him, their bodies tangling together before they end up on their sides. He doesn’t have the patience for more, so he grips Patton’s thigh and pulls their hips flush together, an arm trapped under the blond’s side before the hand on the other man’s thigh wraps around their cocks.

Patton’s hips shift into the touch and his moans dance over his lips. Roman steals quick kisses between the sounds the other man makes, but he doesn’t want to silence him, he wants to hear the moans that he’s daydreamed about for years. Patton’s arousal swells in his own body, he can practically taste the other man’s desperation without so much as putting his mouth on him. He can feel the curling heat in his body, the sensitive nerves, the thudding in his heartbeat. And love, so much love, it wraps around his own emotions as he rests their foreheads together, panting and gasping whilst their breath drifts over each other’s lips. 

He knows when Patton is going to cum, he’s used to that distinct sense of frustration and wild burst of energy seconds before his nails are digging into Roman’s shoulder, scratching at layers of skin as his hips spasm. It drags Roman’s orgasm out of him with a force so intense his eyes roll. Patton’s euphoria blends in with his own and for a whole moment he doesn’t know where his feelings start and the other man’s ends. All he feels is a blinding white hot heat scraping through his stomach as his hands shake with the strain to milk them both through their orgasms. 

By the time he’s come down he’s so breathless he almost forgot how to take air into his lungs, sweat clinging to his body as he kisses Patton with a biting, shaking kiss. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I love you.” Patton grins back and steals a calmer kiss from his lips, stilling his soulmate with the relaxation of gentle bliss. 

“I love you too,” He kisses the tip of Roman’s nose and enjoys the little flip of his stomach that this elicits from the other man. “I’m glad to finally meet you.” 

“I met you so many times, but it’s nice to touch you too,” Roman wants to touch that pretty face, but one hand is sticky with cum and sweat and the other is trapped under Patton’s body. “Don’t suppose a shower is on the menu?” Patton’s laugh sounds like angels singing. 

“A shower is definitely on the menu.” He doesn’t even really want to untangle from his body, happy to finally touch what he’s always felt, always known. But he does, with hesitance and a small smile, and then chasing after Patton like the idea of being physically alone is not something he’d dealt with for twenty-five years. 

He’d known Patton his entire life. From the first breath he took, and will until his last. But it was nice, it _is_ nice, to put a body to the soul.


End file.
